Silence filled the air between Abner and I once he finished talking. We sat across the table, staring at one another. The only sound was the quiet volume of the televisions as I processed all the information that my colleague had given me. Tales of heroics, altruism, assistance, bargaining, coercion, bravery, valor. Longtime enemies putting aside their differences. Guys who wouldn't look twice at someone being mugged risking their butts to save a civilian.

And I was, in some way, the reason for those very things.

There was only to say to a revelation like that.

"I need bourbon."

"No, you don't," Abner said as I stood up from the table.

"Yes, I do." I walked around to the kitchen as Abner got up. My stash of booze was near the living room in a shoddily put together chest for those rare occasions when I had guests. The good liquor, I kept under the kitchen sink, with the cleaning supplies. No villain worth his salt would ever grab a Hefty bag from someone else's kitchen to assist with the clean up. "Grab me some ice from the freezer, would you," I asked as I opened the cabinet door.

"Herman, the last thing you need right now is more booze in you, especially after all the beer and coffee you've drank in the last hour..."

"Fine. I'll take it neat." I put the bottle of Ten High on the counter. "Now, grab me a glass," I told Abner as I unscrewed the cap, "or else I'm chugging right out of the damn bottle."

Sighing, Abner pointed to the sink. "Looks like someone did dishes earlier tonight. There's a tumbler on the drying rack."

Thank you, Anne, Ashley, Pete, Robert, whoever. The Ten High was normally my own personal celebration for a job well done, like the armored car heist from earlier in the week, something I saved and savored for those brief times in my life where things went absolutely right. This bottle, I'd had for about a year, half-full of bourbon before I poured about four thumbs worth of amber liquid into the clean tumbler. Abner watched, not saying a word, as I lifted the glass to my mouth and slammed the bourbon. It burned pleasantly as it hit my throat, scorching the skin sweetly before heading down to my stomach. "Gahhhh!" I put the tumbler down on the counter next to the bottle as a ball of fire formed in my stomach. "Whew...wow. Man, I needed that..."

"You done?"

"Yeah, Abner, I'm done." The warmth reassured me as I sealed the bottle back up. After hiding it under the sink once again, I leaned on the counter, studying the cheap Formica surface. "So...no jokes? You're not screwing around on this?"

He slowly shook his head. "Don't take this the wrong way, Herman, but I'm just as surprised as you are. It's the honest truth, though. I'm not messing with you. Every word, as far as I can confirm, is true. Didn't Spider-Man mention any of this to you last night?"

"The wall-crawler said he wanted to talk to me, but the two of us ain't exactly on a first name basis." I idly scratched at a stain on the countertop with one finger. "We spent more time trying not to kill the other guy at first. Once we got to talking...he...he kinda felt me out on the topic. Asked me about my hideout, how many civvies I had under my wing, and then said he didn't believe me. So we yelled at each other for a bit, I called him a hypocrite, he said a leopard doesn't change his spots, and then we both agreed to a draw before it got violent. He gave me a ride back here, and then I got knocked out by Fred's miracle pulls until you showed up." Ramen powder, that's what the stain was. Got a drop of water mixed in with it somehow, stained the wood. It'll take a hard scrubbing to get it out.

"There was an unofficial standing order. The first person who finds Herman Schultz was to feel him out, try to figure out what the hell his plan is if he has one." Abner rapped the cheap material with a metal knuckle. "What you did threw a lot of people on the superhero side of the equation for a loop, Herman. Normally, when the world starts ending, the bad guys either run and hide, or they try to take full advantage of the situation. So all of a sudden, before SHIELD or the Initiative could mobilize, here's the Shocker of all people, with the Rhino, pulling people out of a 7-11 and staring down Hawkeye. You know what kind of effect that footage had, Herman?"

"A lot of second guessing and wondering what my grand master plan was?"

"Among the superhero crowd, yeah," Abner answered honestly. "But among everyone else? Think about it...while the good guys are sitting there, paralyzed, after seeing the footage of Nick Fury popping the Wrecker in the head, and everyone's trying to come to terms with the fact that zombies are walking around trying to eat people...here comes the Shocker and Rhino, taking action, and saving the day." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the smile forming on his face. "You set a precedent, Herman. The good guys were sitting around with their thumbs up their asses, and the bad guys...well, they decided that maybe they needed to be the good guys."

I scraped at the stain with a fingernail. "You're telling me that all the villains in the world made a call to start playing nice? Because I'll see that notion, and raise you Electro...and whoever this guy is behind the scenes pulling strings and taking orders."

"Oh, of course not. Crusher Creel's causing a mess up in Seattle, and Victor Von Doom's sealed off his country. Not to mention that AIM made a play for the Start Skunkworks out in Anaheim. But for the most part...people realized, Herman, this time's for all the damn marbles. Hell, you got Blizzard out from behind a locked door and playing a hero. You know Donnie, the second it gets too hot, he cuts and runs."

I sighed. "It's just...it's a bit hard to swallow, Abner. You're sitting here, and you're telling me I'm this...catalyst, yeah. This catalyst for a sudden rise of altruism. Can't quite wrap my mind around it. I mean..." Sighing again, I raised my head to look my friend in the eye. "...ok, yeah, I did something heroic when I pulled everyone out of that 7-11. So they there are on ABC, calling me and Rhino out because we did something...good. Hell, it's something any decent human being would have done. If it had been some of Mole Men's creatures...ok, if it had been the Mole Man, I probably wouldn't have gotten out of my chair, but if I had been walking by the place, I would have done something. So yeah...being called a hero was nice. Gave me a warm fuzzy feeling down inside. But...nothing to write home about. It was just supposed to be a onetime thing..."

"...and then you went out and rescued Robert's son and Rhino's countrymen from the bakery." I blinked at Abner's comment, and he shrugged. "I got the story from Fred and Aleksei, Herman. They told me everything about them, and Rhino talking about grabbing the kids from the apartment building, and also, you gave weapons to the Army as well. And putting your life on the line to get insulin? That's the icing on the cake, Herman." Shaking his head, Abner put on his best smile. "Face it, Herman. You are a hero. Why the hell does it bug you so much, man? You're walking the walk, why can't you accept the talk?"

I couldn't monologue it. I didn't have the time to sit and figure it out. Abner was pushing me, not giving me a chance to think. "Because...I did something heroic, Abner. That sure as hell doesn't make me want to go sign up for the Avengers, and damn sure they're not holding their breath waiting for my membership papers. You're sitting here talking about how I'm...Reed Richards is name dropping me, Abner? Reed Richards? The guy dreams up stuff more complex them my gauntlets in his sleep, in between banging Susan Storm, and he's using me for leverage against the Wingless Wizard? That's...I'm no hero, Abner. And I'm damn sure not an inspiration."

Abner started to respond...but a quiet beeping interrupted him. I watched as he lifted his metal-clad arm, noticing the red light flashing on the underside of his forearm. "Damn...I gotta go, Herman."

"Kitten trapped in a tree," I managed to tease.

"Nah, Wonder Man needs a wingman for Throng's Neck Bridge duty." He pushed away from the counter. "You need anything? Want me to try to swing back with some medicine?"

"Nah," I told Abner as he grabbed his helmet from the kitchen table. He swigged a last slug of black coffee as I talked. "We're pretty good from Rhino and mine's last haul. Keep it for people who really need it."

"See, Herman? That's a heroic gesture right there." Laughing at my scowl, he snapped his helmet on. "Take care, Herman. I'll see you soon," Mach-IV said to me as he headed for the steps leading to the roof.

"Watch your ass, Abner," I responded. "Be seeing you."

X

"Yo, Herman? You decent?"

It took me a couple of seconds to respond to Fred. "Yeah, Fred. Come on in." This conversation was going to be interesting.

"Been in here a long time by yourself, mate," Fred said as he walked behind the wooden

partition into the sleeping area. "Enjoying a date with Rosie..."

Pause.

"Ah, Christ, Herman."

"What do you want, Fred?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were holding up ok...now I know you were just back here going insane. What the hell is with the getup?"

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding my brown-and-yellow mask in both hands. It was the final piece of my quilted costume that I hadn't put on yet. "I was thinking about going back out, actually," I told my friend. "Seeing if Aleksei wanted to join me this time. Still haven't decided yet, but I figured I might as well get dressed in case I make a call that way."

Fred crossed his arms as he leaned against a nearby girder. "Herman...God, mate, why the hell would you want to go back outside? You don't need to. Everyone in here's safe, we got enough stuff to last us for a month, and there aren't any of those things pounding on our door. We're safe. Hell, this is the safest place on all of bloody Manhattan. There's no damn reason to go out, Herman."

I looked up from the mask. "Could be someone out there who needs a hand. Someone the Army missed, or the Avengers overlooked..."

"Ah, god damn it!" Frustrated, Fred threw his arms into the air. "I knew it! All that stuff Abner said to you, all that stuff about you being a hero to the masses, it got stuck in your head and now it's causing you to come down with a terminal case of stupid! Come on, Herman, would you think this out for a second?"

"I've been thinking for a while, actually. I mean...hell, Fred, Aleksei and I, we're a good team. As long as we just keep doing what we did the past few nights...we could find a couple of more people, bring them back here. Drop a few zombies in the process..."

"Or get bitten in the process. Or mobbed by those things. Or, hey, how about maybe getting your head blown off by the Punisher? Or have someone else lined up to take a shot at you like Electro was?"

"All taken into consideration," I told him.

"And after all those things going to the bloody negative column, you're still having this debate?" I didn't answer him, instead turning my gaze back to my mask. "Oh, for the..." Footsteps, and then the scraping of a chair across the concrete floor. Fred turned the chair around, and straddled it. Arms folded over the top of the back of the chair, I felt his eyes studying me as I debated walking a path of madness. "Talk to me, Herman. What's going on in your mind?"

I didn't answer, keeping my focus on my headpiece. I was going over everything I had said, and everything Fred had responded with. Saving a life. The Punisher. Having Aleksei at my back. Tooth and claw pulling at my flesh. Some random criminal taking a potshot at me on orders from Electro's boss. Snatching a child from the jaws of a zombie...

Fred never said a word. He just sat there, staring at me. For one of the few times since I had met him, all I got was total silence from Boomerang. After a few minutes, his quiet gaze got to me more than his motormouth ever did. "Abner called me a hero, Fred. The guys on ABC called me a hero. Aleksei too. I never, at any point in my life, ever considered that someone'd hang that word on me. It's been bugging me and bother me, and it took Abner and Spider-Man to make me look at it. All that...saving those kids, going to grab Ernesto...that was me on autopilot. No thinking, no debates...just me going on reflex, and figuring out the details on the fly. Not improvising...but being like 'ok, I'm gonna go rob a bank,' and then being like 'holy crap, now what do I do' when I'm standing there pointing my vibro-smasher at a teller."

His eyes were locked on my face, I could tell. It reminded me of Rabbi Yoshi back in junior high school, when he'd call me to the front of the class...yeah, I know, German last name, Jewish high school. It's New York City. He wasn't saying a word, and I found myself filling the lull. "I don't know...I mean, ok, there's the right thing. You're gonna help a man out of an overturned car, or stop some woman who's being pushed around by a gang. Hell, I've done both of those things, it didn't make me a hero, it made me a human being. That's all this is. Just being a human being, because now it's a woman behind shoved around by a bunch of guys who are gonna eat her. At this point, it's tantamount to murder to leave someone behind. It's a damn death sentence."

Still nothing but silence. Damn it, Fred. "Someone's gotta do it. I've shown a knack for it, with Aleksei's help. Hell, maybe I'm just bored. No offense, but sitting around here watching CNN and Versus 24-7 isn't exactly the most exciting stuff in the world." After a few seconds, my voice broke the silence again. "Or, maybe I found something I'm good at. I mean, yeah, being a good guy...hell, I was worried about the responsibility. That was my big concern, not being able to handle actually taking care of people...but they have shelter, food, water, medicine. And...aside from the massive bruising and near-death experience, it's not so bad. What do you think, Fred?"

My plan to pull him into the conversation failed, as he simply shrugged his shoulder in a non-committed manner. "So I can handle the responsibility...but this whole other thing. Being an inspiration. I just...come on. Otto Octavius is out there keeping Empire State University safe because if I can do it, he can do it? Speed Demon's actually doing his part for society? No...no way. I'm this big bright shining beacon in the darkness, making people go out and do good things? I'm responsible for all that? What's next, I kill every zombie on the planet, punch out Galactus, and nail the Black Cat? Not likely, right?"

Say something, Fred, come on! "Hero, I can live with. But being an inspiration...I never wanted that. I wanted to be...I wanted power..."

"Bull, Herman. All you ever wanted was recognition."

"Remember back in the Bar a couple nights ago? I overheard you and James talking while I was shooting pool. And I remember exactly what you said to him when you two blokes were sitting on barstools drowning your bloody sorrows. Exactly, word for word."

Fred leaned over the back of the chair, jabbing his finger at me as he spoke. 'You ever feel, James, like you had the potential to just do more? Like, some great big score, or this huge heist?' Those were your exact words, Herman. But it wasn't about the power and money that would come along with holding up the Federal Reserve. You never brought that aspect up. I know what bugged you...it was when James, and everyone else, thought Electro was the one who blacked out Manhattan, when it was all your doing. Hell, people still think Maxwell was behind it, even after it came otherwise."

I opened my mouth, but Fred immediately pointed at me. "No, Herman. My turn. Been sitting here quietly the past few days while you and Aleksei have been running around the city with a death wish, so it's my time to sit here and talk some damn sense into you. So sit there and shut up."

Hell, when told like that...Fred ran his mouth, but when it was time to get serious, you could tell. It was, to use a relevant analogy, watching a pitcher go into 'we are not losing this game' mode. The jovial tone was gone from Fred Myers, replaced with something with a lot of respect and weight behind it. "Electro snagged the fame from the blackout job. That's exactly what it's all about for you, Herman. I mean, look at you. You're a damn engineering genius. You built your gloves in a prison machine shop, with a box of scraps! You could have gone to school, gotten a master's, and probably be working for Stark Enterprises right now designing helicopter engines. But you know what? If you had done that, Herman, you'd be another face in the crowd. You'd be the third guy in the second row wearing a stupid looking hard hat. That wouldn't be enough for you, Herman, not by a long shot."

"Whoa, wait..."

"Hey! Still talking here!"

"Ok, ok," I mumbled.

"You prided yourself on being a top notch safecracker and second-story man. Lord, even now, with your gloves and your suit, you still call yourself a safecracker, one of the world's best. It's because you want to be known as the world's best. Let's be honest, we're both in a field where it's damn easy to stand out and make your mark. No one outside of Stark Enterprises would have known who Herman Schultz, PhD was, but there are people out there who damn sure know who the Shocker is."

"There ain't a lot of them..."

"Ok, see! Right there," he said triumphantly. "That little comment, Herman. You want people to know who you are, what your name is, what you do, and just how damn good you are at doing it!" Fred took a breath, and I immediately took full advantage of the pause in conversation.

"Yeah? Then why the hell am I freaking out over all of this? If I wanted all this glory and prestige, I'd be paling around with the Avengers getting my mug on TV!"

Fred gave off a perfect sigh-plus-eye-roll at my comment. "Because you wanted recognition and to fly under the radar."

I laughed from the back of my throat. "Come on, those two don't even go together!"

"Yeah they do! Look, you always prided yourself on not being on the list of a guy like the Punisher, or the Scourge of the Underworld, right?" Ok, I'll concede that point, and did so with a nod. "Hell, a few months ago, Hydro-Man wanted to go throw himself at Spider-Man, but you stopped him and convinced Morris to stick to bank robberies and low-profile gigs."

"Ok, see," I told him. "That proves you're wrong, I don't want to be known."

"Except for the fact that, and this is coming directly from Hydro-Man, you busted into the bank and said 'I'm the Shocker! I'm not going to hurt you, but I'm the Shocker!'" Fred smirked, and wagged his finger at me lightly. "Tell me I'm wrong. You want to be a professional, but you're also not going to go out there and calling attention to yourself. All of a sudden, there's this blitz of attention from people you wanted to impress, but also...you didn't want to draw the notice of, in case they decided to come calling."

"Alright, Fred. I see your point...I think."

"Mate," Fred said, laughing, "I ain't a professional therapist. I'm just calling it like I see it. Fred Myers' Clinic, headshrinking without the stretched skin."

It was my turn to be quiet for a few seconds. "Hell, I wanted to be the guy everyone pointed to as being 'professional.' A real criminal, a guy who got away with everything scot free. Any idiot can walk into a bank. A real pro walks out of the bank and down the street without anyone noticing." I sigh, chuckling as soon as I was done. "I guess you're right...I'm not used to the spotlight. To me, the best gigs, people don't even really know you were ever there until after you're gone."

"Exactly. That's your style, Herman. And that's part one of your problem."

"Part one?" I flipped the mask over in my hands, studying the stitching. "Fred, this is turning into an analysis session."

"Hey, this is what happens when I drink. You get the full 60 minutes on the couch. Normally, it's a lovely lass on the cushions, but..."

"Alright, alright," I laughed. "Then what's part two of what's wrong with me?"

"Hell, that one's easy, mate. You're trying to come to grips with that fact that you might actually be hero material," Fred said. "You keep seeming to have that argument. I heard you have it with Abner, and I know you kind of talked about it with Aleksei, as much as the big guy can hold a serious conversation."

"I'll give you that one," I answered quietly. A finger ran down the front of my mask, going over the bumps in the quilting. I traced the wires underneath, following them down to the leads near the neckpiece. "What do you think? You think I'm hero material?"

"Mate, you rob banks, you crack safes, you have a secret hideout, pal around with wanted criminals, go one-on-one with Spider-Man monthly, and are pretty much a thug. So my answer? Hell no, Herman, you ain't hero material." With that said, Fred's face took on a wide smile. "You're just a nice guy."

"Ok, NOW I know you're pulling my leg, Fred."

"Said you were a nice guy, Herman. You sure as hell ain't a saint. You're robbed, assaulted, and almost murdered. You drink like a fish, you hire hookers when they return your phone calls, you bet on the Yankees. Need me to go on?"

"What's wrong with betting on the Yankees?"

"Everything. Ok, let's turn that around. You don't kill anyone. You go out of your way to make sure no one gets seriously hurt. You help damsels in distress. You pay your bar tab. You let me and Aleksei crash here all the time. You forgave James when he left you hanging to pay back the Bookie." He motioned over his shoulder, back towards the living room area. "People on the TV, they've been talking about how complex the world just got. Me, Herman? I think it's the other bloody way around. The world just got a whole lot simpler. It's the living and the dead, mate, black and white, us vs. them. The rules got rewritten the moment the first body got back up and decided to have a snack. You always followed your own set of rules, Herman. Now you're just rewriting them...because today? It's a hell of a lot easier to be a good guy then a bad guy."

"So what does that make you, Fred? You finally going to play for the good guys?"

"Hell no. I'm retired," Fred smirked. "I'm still an asshole, I'm still a murderer, and right now, you're keeping of off the streets and keeping me in free beer, even if it is domestic crap. Speaking of which...if I stay back here any longer, people are gonna think we're a couple." Fred stood up, stretching his arms out. "Herman...you do what you want to do. I ain't ever gonna stop you unless it gets in my way. Just don't beat yourself over whatever choice you want to make. Just let fly and trust yourself to hit the target, no matter how long it takes."

He turned and left the bedroom...and a few seconds later, I followed him. "Aleksei," I said, walking over to my workbench. "I'm thinking about going back out. If I go, you want to come along?"

The big guy looked up from the plate of ham he had been devouring at the kitchen table. "Back out? Why the hell do you want to do that?"

The gathered survivors in my warehouse were all staring at me now. My last trip was supposed to be my last trip. Instead, there I was, in costume, checking out the power level in my vibro-smashers. "Abner said there might still be people out there who need a hand. Robert, you think we could absorb a few more survivors?"

"Um...yeah...yeah, Herman," the older gentleman said. "Maybe five or six more. Beyond that, we're pushing it."

"Five or six. Got it." I was in auto-pilot again, but this time, the part of my brain that would be screaming in panic was a muffled whisper. I was going solely on reflex, following the same patterns I did anytime I left the warehouse for a job. "Aleksei?"

He was gobbling down the last of the ham on his plate. "Just let me get dressed. You sure about this, Herman?"

"Absolutely not," I told him as I began to pull my vibro-smashers on. "It seems like a good idea, though. Doesn't it?"

"Yeah, so did Custer's plan at Little Big Horn." That came from Boomerang, who had taken position on the couch, sitting next to Ashley. "I'll be on communications if you need them," he told me, reaching for the headphones on the table. "I swear, this is like the end of 'Schlinder's List.' Herman thinking he can save one more..."

"I can save one more, Fred. Shouldn't have given me a therapy session," I quipped as I pulled the second gauntlet on. "It motivated me."

"Shiny," Boomerang groused. "So go be good guys."

X

So that brings us up to speed. The good news is no more flashbacks. From here out, I promise, everything's in straight-as-an-arrow chronological order.

Now, you can hopefully figure out how and why Herman Schultz, aka the Shocker, safe cracker, bank robber, professional criminal, opponent of Spider-Man, and proud New Yorker, came to be in this situation, boldly walking down the middle of an abandoned Manhattan street in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

Catalysts are ingredients that either increase or decrease the speed of a chemical reaction without being consumed by the reaction in the process. I don't know if you could call the end of the world and the rise of the living dead a catalyst in the life and personal growth of Herman Schultz, but apparently, I was a catalyst for a lot of other people to bring them down on the side of...well, screw it. The side of 'good.' It may not be a 99.4% pure white type of good, but right now, the world needs more altruism and sacrifice. And if I was the guy who brought about that change in others...I believe what Abner told me, but I don't believe it. Schlubs like me don't save the planet or become a cheerleader, ra-ra, rally around the banner and all that crap. I'd get hired for a job, or come up with one on my own, plan it, execute that plan, and go home. If something went wrong, the next time, I adapted and planned for it. All those times I battled Spider-Man to a draw? Some guys never learned, just kept throwing themselves at him and getting their asses handed back in return. I upgraded my gauntlets, shoved contact plates in my suit, ran a communications system through my costume, and only fought that webhead if we happened to cross paths. A respected blue-collar criminal, that's all I ever wanted to be.

Fred was right on the money, though. The rules got changed in the middle of the game. All that energy, all that urge to make myself comfortable and rich, gone. In its place...well, apparently, if my actions over the last couple of nights are any indication, it's an urge to put myself on the line to save complete and utter strangers and pull then from harm's way.

Ok, ok, by this point, I know a lot of you are yelling "YOU'RE A HERO, HERMAN! JUST ADMIT IT AND MOVE ON! LESS INTROSPECTION, MORE ZOMBIE KILLING!" And, if what that freak Slapstick told me is true, a few of you are waiting for Aleksei and I to declare our undying affection for each other and become lovers.

First off...that ain't ever gonna happen. You people, and you know who you are, are sick.

And second...I ain't a hero. Right now, at least, I'm not. I'm playing at being a hero, and doing a damn good job at it, but if the world somehow flipped back to normal tomorrow morning, in a few days, I'd probably be right back to robbing banks and getting beat up by Spider-Man. You don't change who you are overnight. Your personality's hardwired into you, and rewriting those lines of code is a long-term process. No one just flips a switch and goes "this morning, I'm going to stop smoking" and that's it. You crave, you cheat, and you backslide. Maybe, a few months down the road, you wake up and realize "hey, I haven't wanted a cigarette in a while. Maybe I'm cured." But you spend the rest of your life with the threat of relapse held over your head. One day, you might slip and grab a cigarette. With that first drag, the question becomes, do you fall right back into old habits, or throw that butt in the garbage and keep going on with your day?

Ask me that question in a month, if the world's still here and a living, breathing Herman Schultz is getting out of bed in the morning.

X

"Ugh," I mumbled as the naked zombie staggered down the darkened aisle towards me.

The streetlights were still on in this neighborhood, giving off just enough light to reflect off of the zombie's remaining eye. The rest of its body, including the other eye socket, was blackened. It sounded like paper rubbing together as it shuffled forward. The moan it tried to make came off as a gurgle, a choking sound from a thing that didn't need to breathe anymore.

Whatever had singed its skin, for some reason, didn't burn the brain tissue and had left just enough skin and muscle for a proper reanimation. I couldn't even tell if this thing had been a man or a woman, thanks to the damage done to its body and the lack of lights inside this corner drugstore. In any case, it was coming towards me, and that was reason enough for me to blast it. A short-range level-one stopped the creature cold. It dropped to the floor, and I stepped over it on the way towards the pharmacy area in the back. I could hear shuffling and moaning from the other aisles, but I did my best to ignore them. My plan for this was a quick smash-and-grab. Smash through the zombies, grab what I needed, and smash my way right back out.

Something hissed loudly, a form grabbing at my costume as I reached the end of the aisle. I didn't even stop to look at it. Its hands were flung away from my costume as I shot a no-look level two in that direction. By the time the body thumped onto the tile floor, I was climbing the stairs to the little pharmacy.

Our big supply run was to a well-stocked, well-lit, well-known Walgreen's. And we all saw how that one turned out. Great haul, near death experiences all around. My last time out, I almost got killed by Electro, and then by the Punisher. This time, no screwing around, no looking for any more survivors, no running down the street after some flying shadow that may not even exist, especially without Aleksei by my side to watch my back and keep me from doing something extremely stupid. I felt a little wary leaving Aleksei on his own to lead everyone back to TriBeCa, but it's a relatively straight shot from Houston Street. And the subways, until tonight, had been clear of those things. In a small tunnel with no room to really move around in, the advantage is with Aleksei. I'd just be in the way. But I still felt naked without him around, which is why I was trying to minimize my exposure.

I picked a mom-and-pop store, right on the corner a few blocks away from the Houston Street subway in Greenwich Village. The intersection had a few ghouls, but I easily walked past them into the store. After popping the ones closest to me, I was now grabbing the first two items on my list from the pharmacy; more insulin, just in case we had picked up another diabetic tonight, and testing strips to ensure we weren't letting the medicine go to waste. As soon as those items were stuffed into my suit, I was on my way back to the aisle I had just walked up for the third and final thing we needed. Waiting for me on the steps leading up to the pharmacy, a small child, missing half its scalp, growled at me. I knew I had finally become truly jaded about the whole "living dead" thing when I punted the kid square in the jaw with my metal boot. As he went ass over teakettle down to the floor, I strode right past him. At the far end of the aisle, the front door was wide open, and I could make out two forms staggering inside. Quickly, I turned to the shelves and grabbed the final item on my checklist, two big bottles of multi-vitamins. That had been Ashley's idea, pointing out that with so many people being crowded into the warehouse, it was important to make sure no one got too sick and spread a bug to everyone else. Especially if someone got sick and died. That would really suck.

That was it. No urge to grab anything else on a whim, any NyQuil, any snacks, any lip balm. I had what I wanted, and right now, I was making my exit. The two zombies at the front door had turned into four or five. I couldn't quite make out exact numbers in the dark, but it was definitely a crowd. As I walked down the aisle towards them, I threw out a level-two blast at the closest one, not aiming for a head shot, just trying to catch the crowd and stagger them a bit. The shot caught the ghoul in the chest, pushing him backwards just enough to block the two behind him. It gave me enough breathing room to slide around the end of the aisle, well out of reach. Even as they tried to regain their balance and come after me, the zombies were grabbing at the air in a vain hope of grabbing me. Dream on, boys.

Autopilot. Not thinking, not panicking. I had done this before, and walked away every time. There was always the element of risk, but as long as I wasn't stupid or foolish, I was solid. The groans coming from behind me, as the ghouls in the store started to close in, didn't bother me too much, sending small shivers down my spine that I easily squashed. Last trip out. No doing something dumb and ending up a walking corpse. Take that fear, gift wrap it, and put it in a box labeled "do not open until 3 am on a Monday morning as you lie dreaming." That's what heroes do, right? Stare down Galactus, survive a fight with Venom, give good copy for the press and good sound bites for the news channels, and then go home and have a breakdown in the shower. Concern keeps you alive. Fear keeps you huddled up in the corner while a wave of undead advance on you.

The front of the small store was a long plate-glass window. Over the stacks of items listed "for sale" packed on the shelf against the window, I could see zombies shuffling towards the door, drawn by the moans of their brethren. In a couple seconds, there would be enough undead bodies crammed into the main entrance to trap me inside, leaving me no choice but to blast my way out. Which is exactly what I was planning on doing, with one carefully placed vibro-smash.

I climbed up onto the far end of the counter just as the mass of zombies shoved their way into the store. The ones I had staggered regained their footing as the mob pushed them back to their feet. "Yeah, uglies, come on, right here," I taunted them once I had found my footing. "Right here, guys, all you can eat!"

Not yet...

A few more zombies lumbered across my field of vision, towards the front door, even though they would have had no hope of getting through the crush to grab a piece of me. Reflex, instinct, that's what I was counting on. "Come on, you want a piece of Herman Schultz, maybe a leg or a thigh? You walking body bags, get some, right here!"

Not yet...

The sheer sized of the mob helped it close the distance to me quickly. They shoved each other with outreached arms, pushing along instead of drunkenly stumbling. But I kept waiting. Just a little longer...the sweat rolled down my neck, just one little drop on the nape drawing my attention. Who the hell stands in one place waiting for a horde of ghouls to get closer and closer?

A guy with a plan, that's who.

With the closest one was ten feet away, I pointed both hands towards the plate window and fired off a pair of level-three blasts. The glass shattered instantly as the vibration slammed into it, sending large pieces out onto the street. Immediately, I leapt off the counter, jumping through the window and landing on the sidewalk right outside the drug store, my feet crunching on the broken glass that now littered the ground. In front of, sprawled out on the pavement, a zombie was twitching in its undeath throes, thanks to a large piece of plate glass that was sticking out of its forehead. I passed the twice-gone-corpse, sprinting across the street towards the line of waiting cars.

Trap play. I had to use myself as live bait again, just like earlier at the subway station, to pull those suckers into the store. Now, that mob was trapped. Some were going to try to climb out the window, and with their dexterity and reflexes, good luck. Some were going to try to go right for the front door, bumping into each other and pushing to be the first ones out. And some were down on the sidewalk, victims of the shrapnel my little stunt had caused.

The only drawback to my plan...well, there were two. First, if my gloves, for some reason hadn't fired, I would have been in deep kimchee, weaponless and with a really ticked off group of living dead on my heels, but that thought didn't even really cross my mind. My bigger concern was the noise I made breaking out of the drug store, because there was a damn good chance it could attract even more ghouls. It had been a risk worth taking, however, because even with the noise, my plan had done exactly what I had calculated it to do; clear the streets of the majority of zombies so I could hotwire a car in relative calm and get the hell out of there.

I could have walked back to TriBeCa, using the subways just like Rhino was currently doing...although by now, he'd hopefully be coming up a few streets over from the warehouse using an emergency exit. But why should I take a chance on the surface when I could just take a car? Or...or that Traverse parked nearby, a black piece of Detroit machinery from when GM still made worthwhile SUV's. Right now, the only transportation from my warehouse in case of an emergency was my getaway van and the trailer we had "stolen" from Tombstone last night. A second car would give us a lot more room, and it was a little more towing capable then the brown Dodge van I had picked up used as a church auction a few months prior.

Oh, and luck was smiling on me tonight, because the driver's side door was unlocked. I pulled it open, ready to slide inside and hotwire that sucker, something I could do with my eyes closed...

I really, really, really shouldn't have said 'luck was smiling on me.' It's like a pitcher throwing a no-hitter. The second you say "hey, you're throwing a no-hitter," the guy's gonna lose it.

Well...Lady Luck just decided to flip me the proverbial and literal bird.

I heard the "swoosh" an instant before something slammed into my back with enough force to knock me into the side of the Traverse. My head cracked against the edge of the roof, sending a white flash of light to my eyes as the shock registered to my body. My mask took most of the impact, but the force of the blow was enough to stun me. I staggered backwards a step or two away from the SUV, holding my forehead as I gave into my natural instinct and tried to shake it off. Those few seconds of confusion, though, were exactly what my assailant needed.

Claws dug into my forearms, piercing the quilting and jamming through the contact plates of my outfit. The pain shook me out of my temporary state of shock, but by the time I could react...

...I was airborne.

The ground quickly disappeared under my feet as I looked down, too stunned to speak or cry out in shock and anger. Behind me, a series of steady swishes reached my ears as my attacker flew me and them into the air. The claws latched tightly onto my skin, pinning my arms in place against my body and I felt the warm wetness as blood slowly began to leak down my wrists. The few zombies on the street, if I wasn't being carried by an unknown attacker into the wild blue yonder, would have been comical, their vacant, confused stares following me as I climbed into the sky.

I couldn't even turn to see who was doing this to me, dragging me upwards. We passed the top of the five-story building the pharmacy was housed in as I struggled, but without being able to move my lowers arms at all, it was useless. Out of the corners of my eyes, I could see the flames and plumes of smoke all across Lower Manhattan, but my eyes were fixed firmly on the silver and green gauntlets that had rendered me useless, sharp spikes affixed all along the forearms.

We came to stop, about ten or eleven stories above the street. The swishes were regular and strong, obviously some kind of flying harness used to keep...

Oh, damn it. Flying harness...there was only one guy. But it couldn't be him, no way...

As soon as I heard the voice, I know exactly who it was, without any doubt. "You thought you could hide away! But now, your luck has run out, at my hands," the voice cackled. "And now you're dead, Herman, just like everyone else!"

The claws retracted, and gravity took over as I was flung towards the ground.