Chapter 4: Master of Darkness
Myra Mason arises abruptly from her easy chair. Raiders invade her home!
They had intended to have Jennings invited in, possibly for some curds and whey, while his Spider-Men secreted in the shadows before springing, frightening Miss Mason. However, the invaders from Mars found the front door locked—as any superhero house would keep it. So, a very large leg, one of six, kicked in the hickory with a crash, startling the "slip" in the study. Ever stalwart, Myra instantly restored her aplomb and stiffened herself for a confrontation. She slipped a pistol into her pocket from a pier table.
The Tarantula was a crime lord who knew Dr. Mid-Nite's secret identity (All-American Comics #88). Perhaps, the Tarantula and accompanying thugs are breaking in this early morn. To Myra's surprise, a wimpy wight rushes into the study instead. Myra assumes he is a mad scientist what with his bald head, dark glasses, white goatee, and olive tweed. Indeed, he even apparently has a monster along. Behind him, some behemoth hound lumbers just below the house's high ceilings. Although, it is obscured, so it may not be a giant canine at all.
With outstretched hands, Jennings goes for Mason's shoulders. He would secure her before bonding her to a chair or, perhaps, soon, mad scientist's exam table, as is the device in this earlier comic-book era. But, Myra Mason has some spunk. So, she ducks and rises rapidly. She strikes bookish Jennings squarely with the tome that she was reading.
Simultaneously, the tall Kriglo Martian crouches sharply to enter the room. Wide womanly eyes find him remarkable.
Jennings wheezes and rubs his windpipe where Nurse Mason wisely hit him. Emulating her amor (Dr. Mid-Nite), the imperiled woman attempts a karate chop to the side of the man's neck, targeting trapezius territory. She has seen Dr. Mid-Nite do such. However, her inexpert attack proves ineffective, and it but bounces off her assailant. Immediately, the big Kriglo chops her as she had intended Jennings. Its ample arm ably drops her to the carpet.
Doughty and durable, Myra Mason bounces back to her feet in their slippers. Myra's moccasins make a momentary retreat as she assesses the imposing alien. From a table, she hurls a heavy ashtray and then a letter opener, aiming for a monster's eye. Nimble arachnid extremities bat those items aside. Retreating feet approach the room's bay window.
Without warning, wide wrapping arms easily wreck the glass panes and wood frames. They crash through the curtains and come for the damsel in distress. Through the drapes, the intruder's long limbs abruptly drag Myra as though all is curtains for her. Back-peddling tarsi drag her across the lawn too toward six other immense abominations, ogling her and grinning. Along the tacky grass, her slippers slide off. Wrested along, her robe opens to reveal her nightie as it might in pulp fiction convention.
Once in the Spider-Men's circle, Myra draws the concealed six-shooter and commences desperately shooting.
Inside, Prof. Jennings steals a butterscotch for his sore throat. In this earlier day, good homemakers leave out candy dishes for any guests. Beside butterscotch boy, a Martian beast brings forth a beeping sphere to scan the residence. The advanced orb sounds excitedly once pointed toward the corridor before the basement steps. Something downstairs acts like a beacon beckoning both brazen burglars to the below.
The Spider-Man speaks, "After traversing approximately one astronomical unit, or millions of miles, we have arrived to acquire those assets we detected as far away as Mars. This daft Earthling actually has a piece of the Yellow Comet stored beneath his dwelling, and another object of extraordinary effects sits beside it. Both shall aid our alien attack upon Gotham. Let us take these powerful items off Dr. Mid-Nite's naïve hands."
The multi-crural Martian marches forth into the manor. He means to possess the prizes for which he undertook an interplanetary quest. His hurried, high head smashes through low-hanging lamps along a hallway until the Kriglo reaches a door. A boisterous blow dashes the door; then, down the stairs the invader from Mars goes.
At first, physician's gear greets the great greenish spider from Mars. Dr. McNider and Nurse Mason's basement holds jars of medicine above boxed rolls of bandages beside long white lab coats on hooks. Beyond them, an exam table sits near an x-ray machine. Beyond that, a gurney sits under a wide overhead light. The surgical area also has tins of sterilized implements and an ether tank situated by deep sinks. Curiously, there is a handgun hung above the gas. Over yon are elevator doors and cloth hampers for medical waste.
Soon, the Spider-Man stops before a solid bolted door made of submarine steel, and Jennings joins him. For several seconds, the sizable beast strains to snap the sealed steel free, but the bulwark proves, unsurprisingly, sturdy. Steamed, the Martian simply draws a ray gun and destroys the hinges. The fallen mass resounds throughout the cellar.
Automatically, hanging lightbulbs flicker to life in a large locker. This space is Dr. Mid-Nite's inner sanctum. And, costumes hang above crates of blackout bombs and such proving it.
"Let us rob the Justice Society's weakest member," Jennings ogles the nifty truck.
"You may if you wish. Take some clothes, baubles, and souvenirs," the Martian master allows, "It is apt that our party's weakest member should rob the JSA's one, besides Atom or Robin."
"Or Black Canary, Hawkgirl, or Wonder Woman too," Jennings attempts saving face.
The alien pivots toward the tight chamber's corner. His big butt keeps Jennings from pilfering a costume or accoutrement. Mid-Nite's closet is now cramped by enormous arachnid quarters. Quickly, the Spider-Man is cooing with excitement, and he drags forth a steel cabinet like a carbonized treasure chest. On the box's face, several dials await combinations. However, math genius Jennings is unsure if he need start guessing numbers and sequences. The Kriglo may simply crack the safe like an egg.
The copping Kriglo clears his throat. He then states, "I must half-apologize for criticizing your avarice just now. We Martians are also here to steal. The only difference is that your objects of desire are petty. Frankly, only squares will ever remember Dr. Mid-Nite, from 1948 to 2028. In contrast, we Kriglos' coveted cache could change the history of the universe."
Jennings gibes, "I thought you said that you were only changing the course of this solar system."
The Martian shoots Jennings a glance but does not shoot him with a laser blaster. Rather, he produces a laser pen, of a sort, and surgically slices the cabinet top. Surgeon Charles McNider would be impressed with the steady hand. Once done, the Spider-Man conceals the tool and shoots web strands to the red-hot lid. He lithely lifts it loose while molten metal drips to the room's tiled floor, ruining it. Casually, the canny creature lets the cabinet crown clatter. And, Dr. Mid-Nite's security measures are mooted, like that.
Four-yards-high, the Kriglo can reach into the unshut safe like a cookie jar. He cups one object and brings it forth. It is a lead canister containing something awfully radioactive. One can tell. It has the warning symbol and label. Next, the Martian brings out a big flask with lactescent liquid within. On the side, wax pencil writing warns "DO NOT OPEN. Enhanced glutamic acid from the 25th century". The compound apparently complements the Yellow Comet fragment. Both are fantastic finds and forbidden fruit that a superhero might secret for the public's safety.
But, a beastly Martian and a mad scientist have them now.
Dr. Jennings fairly drools, "What else is in the cache? Does the trove hold the formula that we discussed? It is mine! You promised!"
The monster shakes his head and scratches his bristly chin, "Jeremiah Jennings, you are currently a jackanape amongst geniuses, giants, and gallant journeyers. I swear that we Martians are superior to you in every way—including our hard-earned wisdom."
Peevish Dr. Jennings points a stiff finger and petitions, "Are there papers in that stand-up safe? If so, give them to me!"
Stolidly, the strapping Spider-Man swipes out a stack of leather-bound books, "Here. These are likely Dr. Mid-Nite's journals. Take what you can back to the saucer and read until your small heart is content. Although, you will unlikely find the formula and blueprints that you seek. Surely, the Justice Society stows the secrets to the atomic bomb in their securest location, not here. The only siren or booby trap that we have encountered in this keep was that woman upstairs."
Upon having the journals, Jennings frantically flips pages and peruses, "Plans for blackout bombs. And specialized lenses. A bunch of stuff apparently on gangsters. Sections on supervillains. Etcetera. Nothing on nuclear fission—yet. But, I shall find it!"
The Martian flutters his lids and tightens his lips. He states, "You Earthmen are fools. I cannot believe that the Red Planet has searched for intelligent life in the Universe, outside of Venus, for centuries, and, when we find it, we find you and atomic weaponry—again. You should know. Forty millennia ago, we Kriglo Martians. . . . ."
"Au contraire," the impudent, excited earthling interrupts, "Atomic bombs are God's bounty and boon. Two years back, Fat Man and Little Boy were the most beautiful creations ever born into this world. They were the miraculous progeny produced after centuries of researching radiation and the very fabric of reality. They brought peace to the Pacific for all sides in a world war. They brought the possibility of unlimited energy for humanity to harvest for any purpose that it wants, from electrical production to space travel. The bombs brought the chance for righteous justice and revenge—such as I seek."
"You seek to blast Keystone City off the map," the Martian acknowledges, "You willfully would slaughter two million people so that you might kill one. Truly, you are a mad scientist comparable to Lex Luthor—except he has some class, of course."
"The Flash must diiiiie!" explodes the mad scientist.
The alien freak apes some Freud, "Yes, Flash is the impetus of your angst and your death wish for others. Does he have to die because he warned the Manhattan Project about you? Flash felt compelled to do so after you kidnapped Americans to colonize Mars and indeed took them there [see Flash Comics #24]."
"Yes!" Jennings confirms Flash's condemnation, "Upon return, the Man of Speed delivered me to the authorities posthaste. Before I knew it, a Col. Steve Trevor and colleague Ted Knight barred me from the Manhattan Project—though I be one of America's greatest minds. How dare Flash! How dare the U.S. government! How dare anyone!"
"Oh dear, Jeremiah," comments the Kriglo, "you possibly perpetuate your world's doom."
"You're g*## % right I do!" declares Jennings ardently, "I'm going to blow twenty-five square miles of Earth from existence! Outrun that flash, Flash! Keystone City will be crispy like lit kindling. Like this!" The savage scientist snaps his fingers for emphasis.
With irritated look, and growing exasperation, the alien visitor exhales, "Listen, little earthman, you should be careful for what you wish. Forty millennia ago, the Kriglo of Kigor state on Mars wanted the same power. And, we got what we wished for. We ancient Martians too were just advanced enough to split the atom and just simple enough to not understand. We too engineered apparatus simply awaiting an accident and arms inviting insane, unmitigated aggression. Both kinds of calamity occurred. And, Kigor, crown jewel of old Mars, became a radioactive wasteland populated by mutants. That is what we lowly Spider-People are. You see, most Martians are psychic, shape-shifting humanoids who are even capable of flight. They are wondrous and beautiful. We Kriglo are not. We Kriglo are an isolated community of inferior freaks. That damned domain is what you visited when you landed on Mars."
Prof. Jennings points out, "You wish to leave your long-time lazaretto. You wish to colonize elsewhere and create a sovereign nation. My rocket inspired you. Thus, your radio signal contacted me on Earth after I returned."
The Martian explicates, "To initiate new life, we plan to invade Venus."
Jennings juvenilely titters, "You know, a man could take that statement many ways." Jeremiah jokes about the double entendre about the Roman goddess, of which Mars here probably doesn't even know.
"I get the joke, Jennings," rejoins the alien, "although it be not very politically-correct."
"What is political correctness?" inquires the Earth intellectual.
"May you never find out," replies the alien, "Like atomic fission, It too could be the ruin of mankind."
The mad scientist smiles. Perhaps, he should acquire some of this "political correctness". It could serve a person's proud pernicious purposes.
Understand that, like a king or a spree killer, power-hungry Jennings is narcissistic enough to want not only a "guilty" party, such as the Flash, dead but also everyone around that person. By his egoism and unchecked id, they are guilty too. By his unmitigated anger, the whole world is guilty and needs to suffer and needs to know his name.
The Spider-Men are birds of a feather. In their case, the Justice Society will have to suffer for their people to "righteously" attain "what is theirs".
So, one speaks, "We have the Fire People's cosmic fragment, and we have 25th-century Landor's means of animal control. We can hit the JSA with fiery fighters and rampaging beasts—so long as the beasts aren't afraid of the fire. Does one spot anything else in Dr. Mid-Nite's dungeon that we might commandeer for combat? Mid-Nite has arrived outside and is pestering my comrades."
"How could the Master of Darkness be here?" Jennings inquires, "Solomon Grundy should have crushed him—or at least occupied him for a while."
"I do not know the story, unseen to me," the Kriglo raises his hands, "However, my earpiece informs me that hero and Hooty are home now."
"You have a radio in your ear?" Jennings guesses, "That innovation is a hep trick."
"Thank you," the space spider scans the cellar for other goodies.
A-ha. He finds one. There is advanced technology sitting outside the vault. It is a large item that apparently neither fits nor disassembles easily. So, the Kriglo hands Jennings the precious jar and cylinder—instructing Jennings to guard them with his very life. The Martian hulk hefts mobster Malcolm Mumm's machine (see All-American Comics #51) and calculates how to possibly get the great gadget up the stairs.
Meanwhile, moments before. . . . .
Myra Mason makes haste after unloading ammo at ominous, encircling aliens uncouthly ogling her. Of the set, some are simply startled, for her potshots missed. Other ugly extraterrestrials have open abrasions across their leathery hides; however, they are much more irked (and achy) than injured. The .38 caliber rounds cut them as if elephants. But, Mason's weapon was neither the elephant gun nor Buck Rogers blaster that she needed.
Myra sprints over the early morning's slippery, dewy grass. She groans with angst as her exposed soles kick and her open housecoat flutters in the chilly night breeze. Nearby, two hundred feet ahead, the estate's front yard ends, and a gravelly country road begins. That road wends past neighboring homes. Maybe, hopes Myra, neighbors heard the gunshots! If not heavy sleepers. With any luck, the plucky lady can lope the one-mile length to the highway, if necessary. Although, it likely has little traffic after midnight. Oh well, by adrenaline and strong lungs (albeit wheezing), the woman in peril could peddle to Port Elizabeth and on to Poughkeepsie if she had to.
Alas, the lass never gets the chance. With the road insight, a long web strand whips around her gam like a lacquered lasso. And, a Spider-Man fiercely yanks her flat facedown. His fellows have already run their long legs past the lawn's perimeter. Under the eerie moonlight, three monsters emerge from the sylvan thicket surrounding Dr. Mid-Nite's estate. They are not quite as tall as the spruces from which they would suspend dear Myra Mason. They seize the lady—silently and sternly stoic in her situation—off the ground. Then, huge hands stretch the girl spread-eagled amidst the prickly, pungent tree branches. Gossamer sprays swiftly from all sides. It wraps her wrists and ankles. Amazingly, it forms an expansive web, wide as a seine, in an instant.
Then, the quartet of odd creatures eyes Miss Mason mischievously.
"Should we strip her?" asks one.
"No silly, she might catch cold. It is only 280 Kelvin out," answers another. By contrast, Mars is about 210 K, but celestial scallywags are sensitive to their sample's needs on this forty-four Fahrenheit night.
"Should we dissect her for science?" queries a third queer creature.
A space monster snipes, "Well, if we are not denuding her, we are not dissecting her either, dolt."
"Should we make her into food instead?"
"Nah. Nineteen-forties Earthlings eat copious cholesterol, and not the kind that builds your brain."
"Actually, cholesterol is an essential part of a proper diet," interjects Nurse Mason.
"Now maybe," the other-worlder answers, "When you humans are more advanced, you may disagree."
"Should we make her a pet?" a creepy creature continues conversation.
Over yon, an approaching engine roars.
"I already said. We're not stripping her!"
"I didn't say 'give her a pet'. I said make her a pet. You know, like Prof. Jennings."
"Oh," the original acknowledges, "No, we shall make Myra Mason here our slave. We made humans our slaves on Mars when Flash visited. And, we shall continue our princely practice now."
"No," Miss Mason knowingly shakes her head, "Actually, you shan't."
Suddenly, headlamps blaze to life and blind the blighters holding Myra in bondage. Dr. Mid-Nite arrives! The Midnight-mobile drives deliberately from the darkness onto the distracted four captors, like deer in the (well, you know). Like a rocket, the revved, racing roadster hurtles ahead.
The speeding auto rams a buggy behemoth completely from sight. Body partially on the windshield, legs bent beneath the hard bumper, the careening Kriglo smashes through the spruce trees and crashes into an oak's trunk. Popped radiator provides a pall for the pinned pest—along with a painful steam bath. The big bad guy squalls over assorted fractures—and splinters.
Recklessly, Dr. Mid-Nite and Hooty spring from the wrecked wagon. The hero rushes to rescue his lady love. Similarly, through the wrecked woods, a Spider-Man scurries to save his screaming comrade. Mutually rushing forward, Mid-Nite and the Martian meet. The peeved devil proclaims that he shall strike down the despicable Doctor. The incensed alien expresses. . . . .
Dr. Mid-Nite lobs twin blackout bombs into the monster's big open mouth, and the man-bug chimera chokes on the smoggy smoke. Charcoal snot and tears emanate. Cape snapping jauntily, the Justice Societarian jogs pass the jarred giant. Hooty poops on the puffing putz.
In no time, Dr. Mid-Nite and Hooty assail the remaining two Kriglo. The owl avenger confronts a Spider-Man creature-to-creature. Like a raptor, the barreling bird rakes big beady eyes, eliciting inky ichor. Doing an immediate Immelmann, the intelligent avian crusader clips emphatically across chin. Then, Hooty circles speedily and screeches into each ear. The blinded Kriglo bats about, but he cannot find the little fiend tormenting him.
In the vicinity, Dr. Mid-Nite and another gargantuan are David and Goliath. Semi-bare Myra Mason bears witness from amidst the boughs. The battle begins with man and monster mutually charging each other as though a foot soldier would tackle a tank. With what exquisite jujitsu can Dr. Mid-Nite possibly win this joust? Like a truck, the tremendous tilting terror prepares to flatten prey.
However, Dr. Mid-Nite goes prone at the last second, and he slides low under the surprised Martian. A sheet of fallen spruce needles facilitate the fleet slide. The hero hops up. Expertly anticipating, the swashbuckler sidesteps a gooey strand suddenly shot from the bizarre spider's backside.
Mid-Nite shouts to amor Myra, "Are you alright?"
"I'm hanging on," the girl Friday gibes.
"Good. You won't be left dangling for long, darling," the hero hastily reengages.
Dr. Mid-Nite hops on a huge hinder, and his feet make for the head. Hissing, the hideous brute reaches sharply back, for his forceful fore limbs would like to swat a pest. However, the hero handily evades the beast's blind groping. Reaching his nemesis' neck, Dr. Mid-Nite wraps it tight about the throat. However, the Doctor doesn't see how his foe runs. Abruptly, the Kriglo ducks a tad, and a high bough bops brave, bold Mid-Nite loose. The ground meets the man meanly.
The Martian whirls agilely around on all six legs. Pearly fangs protruding, the wroth horror picks-up the hero and puts him at eye level. Puissant phalanges press ribs perilously.
"I could crush you like an insect, earthman," pronounce pouting putrid lips dripping probable poison.
"Perhaps," Mid-Nite opens a belt pouch, "But, you will not."
"Oh. Why's that?" the Martian presses Mid-Nite further.
"My chum the Sandman," replies the champion, reaching for something.
The smarmy spider-scoundrel sneers, "Sandman is elsewhere. Every Justice Society member is. Our spacecraft's scanners surveyed Earth before our siege upon McNider Manor."
"Oh, he is here alright," Dr. Mid-Nite insists.
Ebon eyes roll, "Where?"
"In the ether," the captive quickdraws and fires a zip gun.
From the muzzle, a glass ball sails like a musket shot. It shatters squarely over the pug-ugly's puss, and a heady gas releases about his noggin. A noxious nimbus envelops the antagonist. Shrewd Dr. Mid-Nite has to smirk. During the recent war, he witnessed the Japanese using glass gas grenades, and he thought it crafty innovation. And, during his JSA tenure, he has seen Sandman's effective, sophisticated soporific weaponry. So, Dr. Charles McNider makes ether bombs in his basement. Jennings and one Kriglo saw the workbench before, without knowing it.
However, to sneaky Dr. Mid-Nite's surprise, the anesthetic attack does not quite work on his queer subject. The Kriglo wheezes and sneezes but does not go slack and asleep. Mayhap, a Martian mutant Spider-Man has strange physiology.
Anyway, the Martian's mitts remain cinched as steel bands upon the Justice Societarian, and the jumbo creature could angrily crush him at any time. Thus, Dr. Mid-Nite goes for a simpler utility belt accessory: a match. He deftly strikes it on a costume button and flings the flame a full eight feet sans extinguishment (like in a comic book). After all, the nearby cloud is ether.
Immediately, Dr. Mid-Nite brandishes his combat knife to cut a large knave's abductor pollicis longus, the thumb tendon. By this surgery, an alien's abductee is free—from imminent immolation.
A fireball explodes over Kriglo cranium and through the woods. The crisp concussion contorts the captor's coconut; the incredible Kelvin cooks his skin. His legs crumple like a squashed bug's. And, his jolted arm reflexively pitches Dr. Mid-Nite far away. Fortuitously, the knight lands by his lady Myra, who he intends to save yet this night.
McNider's girl's eyes go wide gazing at her feet. "Charles, get up!" she screams.
There is a loud crackle fast approaching the couple. And, it brings horrible heat with it in its haste. Sitting up, a superhero surveys high spruce branches burning. Looking over a little, he spots a seriously seared, smoking Martian still spasmodic. Considering the ground, Dr. Mid-Nite notices a wall of flame advancing like, well, wildfire! The sylvan floor—upon which the swashbuckler slide—is ablaze with swiftly spreading fire! You see, amassed dry evergreen needles ignite en masse when match meets ether. Then, such litter goes to consume both vegetable and flesh.
Dr. Mid-Nite goes like blazes to liberate Myra Mason. In a single bound, he hops beside her in the huge, resinous web. A quick kiss and caress to calm her, if need be. Then, her hero attacks the tacky threads troubling them both. Increasing acrid smoke surrounding them, Mid-Nite manipulates the webbing wrapping Myra's wrists. Like a half-blind surgeon, he positions the ligatures and saws with his blade. But, the adherent arachnid excretion proves stubborn to slicing. Adamant U.S. steel struggles. At their feet, furious heat increases like the frying pan beneath eggs and bacon. Instantly, sweat streams down Myra to the smoldering soil, and her brave beau's boots sizzle and steam. Huffing and puffing, Dr. Mid-Nite promptly changes strategy amidst the choking, opaque smoke. An Army blade ardently bashes surrounding branches. However, the hacking knife is neither a needed hatchet nor machete.
Oh no! Is this the end of Dr. Mid-Nite and Myra Mason?
Like a bolt through blackest night, a laser beam blitzes upmost wood and web alike. It misses Myra by a blonde hair. Her top half tumbles from her housecoat and into Charles' awaiting, able arms. Mid-Nite's goggles glance over his shoulder. In the haze, a dazed, cooked Kriglo fires a ray gun poorly. Another unsteady shot destroys adjacent arborescence, which fortunately falls away from Mid-Nite and Mason. With ardor, the champion concentrates on Myra's ankles still fettered above a fiery forest floor.
Abruptly, the burnt, seething Martian charges bellowing like a two-ton brahma. Suddenly, simultaneously, and serendipitously, Hooty's chafed foe, strafed incessantly by talons, comes crashing through the woods—hysterically swatting at his odious, irksome owl opponent. The unlucky Kriglos collide, and their multiple legs tangle. The two locked behemoths tumble and bumble like boulders toward Dr. Mid-Nite and his girl. Gallant Charles wraps Myra in his cape. The monsters' combined mass bowls over the trees before the two trapped, trepidatious terrans. Then, Dr. Mid-Nite and Myra Mason disappear beneath the burning timber, and big buggers, atop them as though they may now be 2D characters compacted into the soil.
"Ouch, that tucking hurt," says one giant alien tucked and stuck against another.
"Are the humans at least dead?" asks the other in answer.
"Only H'ronmeer, god of death and fire, knows," assesses the ablated original, "We should regroup with our raiding party."
"Yeah, let's go. As J'onzz says, fire can be scary," states a sooty Martian to a scorched one.
Right on cue, Kriglo, over yon, call to depart. They have their coveted booty and wish all ravagers back to the ship. The gang of big green spider-men regather. From the fiery thicket, two Martians leave Dr. Mid-Nite and gal to cook in the ground. And, may crows find the duel roasts, dammit! From kitty-corner forest, a raspy fellow freebooter crashes through foliage with a broken comrade on his back. The Martian moans after his motor vehicle "accident". Before the escape saucer, Jennings and the lead Martian direct three movers—sporting some bullet boo-boos—up the spaceship's ramp. The gangway gleams gloriously in the lunar and wildfire light after the varletry's victory. All villains get abroad.
Then, the flying saucer alights and goes toward Gotham. The evil aliens have escaped.
Meanwhile, Dr. Mid-Nite and Myra, to appearances, are trapped in an earthen oven while a couple cords of firewood cook them. Surely, awful things occur, from individuals' outsides to organs, under the piled pyre. Although, no screams escape the burning wood.
Many miles away, a saucer streaks across the sky, and a scarlet blur streaks in the opposite direction on the ground.
Within seconds, a reddish whirlwind arrives at the wildfire and rotates like a cyclone around it. One guy's gale-force winds extinguish the entire afire area in about eight ticks. Then, Flash skids to a stop. Ash gently falls around the Fastest Man Alive. Jay Garrick guides his eyes and ears to find his friend Charles McNider, Dr. Mid-Nite. A bird of a feather, Hooty arrives on the settling winds to help search. He asks "Hoo? Hoo?" while Flash wonders "Where? Where?".
Close-by, wrecked timber wobbles. And, someone shoves a smoldering stack upward like Atlas giving a Herculean effort. Hermes hurries to Dr. Mid-Nite and hurls the wood high and away in a flash. Nurse Mason crawls in tattered nightgown from a smoking crater. Incognito Dr. McNider collapses supine on soot.
"Thank God for fire-resistant capes, leather costumes, and good kismet," murmurs dazed Dr. Mid-Nite.
"I heard on the police radio that Charles McNider's house was under attack," says Flash, "I came as fast as I could."