The Spider Pt. 43

Peter stood watching the flames consume the building. It was a bank, and it was burning pretty good at this point. This was one of those old school downtown banks, lots of stone and marble on the exterior. They didn't make them like that very often anymore, but this one was a hundred years or so old, Peter figured, built to last.

So, Peter knew that there would be a pretty good shell left after the interior burned out, but he didn't really care about that. That would be good enough.

He nodded to the other three people that had broken down the glass and gotten into the bank, where they had all dumped gasoline all over the floors, the alarm blaring off in a deafening cacophony. They had lit the gasoline and ran out.

The other three nodded back and ran off, looking for the next place to burn. Peter stood outside, holding one more gas can just in case it was needed. It didn't look like it would be, but he was to stay a few more minutes to make sure.

Peter had never seen a burning building before he had been made to torch the targets that Cindy Lou had explained were the faces of capitalist oppression. There were various groups out there, but Peter himself had already burned down a couple of banks, a title loan company and a convenience mart that held a police substation.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

Peter was surprised to see how black the smoke was, he guessed that it was from burning plastic or something. The sky of the City was growing dark with black smoke.

Somehow some of the alarms were still going off in the bank, so Peter did not know the Hawk was behind him until she spoke.

"Your boss," the Hawk said. "Where is she?"

Peter turned around, blinking in the smoke.

"What?" he said dimly.

"Cindy Lou. Where is she?"

"I'm not going to tell you that."

The Hawk nodded, sadly.

She knew he wouldn't. She had already captured and tortured more than a few of these looters, these anarchists, whatever they were. She had taken quite a lot of time with a few of them, plenty of time, anyone would have broken and told her what she needed to know. Anyone.

But not these people. They didn't tell her anything.

I guess I won't waste my time then, she thought. Just kill him and get on with it.

Peter just stood there, holding his gasoline can. He didn't know what to do.

He had been told to resist the police, and how.

But whatever was standing in front of him was absolutely not police.

He watched her black wings flex back and forth in the smoke. He looked up at her dark face, saw her sharp teeth, knew she could rip his throat out in a heartbeat if she wanted to.

Which didn't really concern him, for some reason. Cindy Lou had told them all that they should be prepared to die for her and that they should be, well, not happy about it, but certainly they should not feel anything that might jeopardize their belief in the work.

And so, he didn't.

Still, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about this one.

Finally, a thought occurred to him.

"Ma'am?" he asked.

"What," the Hawk said roughly.

Peter held up his gasoline can to show her.

"Do you think it would be OK if I poured this on myself and ran in there?"

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the burning bank.

"Why?" she hissed.

He shrugged.

"You know," he said. "I really can't think of what else to do at this point."

She said nothing, which he took as assent to his plan. He poured the gasoline all over his neck and shoulders, felt it drip down his chest and back.

The Hawk just stood there looking at him.

"Well, all right, then," Peter said to no one in particular. "Here I go, I guess."

He turned and ran into the fires. The Hawk watched long enough to see him burst into flames, she heard his scream faintly over the alarm.

That was new, she thought.

The Hawk looked around, deciding on whatever the next move should be.

I guess I'll just keep killing them, she thought. That should flush whoever this Cindy Lou is out in time, or maybe I'll get lucky and catch her.

Really not all that much of a plan, the Hawk knew.

But there was something very... different about these people.

***

"OK," Officer James Candy explained to the other police gathered around him. He jabbed his finger into a position on the map. "We are going to go in here, at Lake Street. We'll keep the barricades down long enough for us to establish a beach head, then we will flank out and escort the firetrucks and the ambulances. We'll maintain our presence there until the firefighters are able to start putting out the first building they've designated, it's this First Bank and Trust at the corner of Jefferson and Mayfair. They picked it because it's only a couple blocks past the barricades, so if we come under a lot of fire, we can get back out pretty quickly. We hope. Our job is to protect the EMTs as they start loading up wounded. We know there are a lot of wounded."

He looked around him, gazing into the faces of his fellow officers. They looked tired. Numb.

"The Guard is coming, and they'll take over for us. But for now it's up to us. That's the way it should be. It's our city that's under attack. We can't wait any longer. There's innocent people in there."

Grim faces, solemn acceptance of duty.

That would have to be good enough.

The officers gathered at the barricades leading into the heart of the City. James looked around the gathering police noticing how many cops had left their helmets and shields behind, the red paint had ruined them and made them unable to see through.

Which, James knew, was exactly the point. Clearly the police were walking into some kind of trap.

Only question is, how bad?

Basically one way to find out.

It is what it is, James thought.

***

The barricades were pushed aside, the police started marching down the boulevard, leaving a good amount of distance between them. They were disciplined and alert.

"Nice nightstick," James commented to Aaron.

"What? Oh, yeah," Aaron laughed. He held the weapon up. "Yeah, they don't issue these anymore, but if an older officer gives you one, you can still use it. Kind of a loophole."

The nightstick was the same length as James', but made of wood, and capped with a heavy iron end.

"Old school," James nodded approvingly.

"Yeah," Aaron agreed. "The rubber ones they issue now are designed to put a creep down but without hurting him all that much. This motherfucker right here is designed to crack open his fucking head and make sure that if he ever even does get up, he's shitting in a bag for the rest of his life."

"Damn right," James agreed.

"They phased these out in the 70's, but when I started on the force, one of the older cops wanted me to have it. Kind of took me under his wing. He never came right out and said it or anything? But he was a white guy, and I got the idea that he'd been made to do some things back in the day that he wasn't exactly proud of, and so he kind of wanted to make some amends for that by working with me. He was a good man. Cancer got him a few years after he retired."

"Fuck," James shook his head.

"Don't be too sad," Aaron laughed. "Dying of cancer and old age sounds pretty good right now."

"Yeah."

They had come across a few dead bodies so far, all of them the same, sliced open from sternum to belly, laying on their sides, eyes bulging and stiff fingers wrapped around the guts they had failed to keep inside.

Frankly, it was terrifying. The best guess they had come up with was that these were people caught up in the riot, people the protesters had attacked and killed.

Soon the police and firefighter caravan came to a stop, the cops started pulling barricades from vehicles and assembling a ring around the firetrucks. The firefighters got to work, and soon had jets of water launching towards the First Bank and Trust, turning black smoke into white steam as the fire was quenched.

Nothing would be saved.

"Look!" Aaron pointed upward.

James looked up at the sky, through the smoke and steam.

"What? What is it?"

"Don't know," Aaron relied. "Something up there. Black."

"The helicopters are landed, though."

"Wasn't no helicopter."

"Should we tell someone?"

"Tell them what? Just... just keep an eye on the sky, I guess."

James noticed a commotion as one of the paramedics was talking with some of the other officers. James made his way over.

"We got a guy in an alley just behind there," the paramedic was saying. "Still alive. Might make it. Probably not. Anyway, we gotta get a stretcher to him and get him out."

James and few of the other officers left the barricade and followed the paramedics to the alley.

The man was slumped against the wall of the alley, eyes glazed, his chest heaving. His arms were wrapped tightly around his abdomen, blood pouring from exposed pink.

"Hey, fella," the paramedic said, kneeling by him. "You're going to be OK. What's your name?"

The bleeding man focused his eyes on the paramedic.

"I don't know if Cindy Lou actually has a plan for this," he whispered. "I just... I just... I never even saw it. Not really."

"What's your name, fella?"

"It's looking for her."

"Let's get him out of here," the paramedic said, and they got the bleeding man onto the lowered stretcher, raised it, and wheeled the man away.

James followed the stretcher, hoping to learn more, but the man closed his eyes. James knew they would probably never open again.

***

The fire at the First Bank and Trust had been put out. There was discussion about how to proceed. Finally, it was decided for the police and firefighters to make way to another bank, thought to be on fire, and see if they could catch that before too much damage was done.

The helicopter being grounded very much had the police working blindly.

The caravan of firetrucks, armored SWAT vehicles, and police on foot moved slowly down Grand Boulevard. Soon they came to a halt.

"What's up," James asked Aaron.

"Another barricade," Aaron replied. "Take too long to push it out of the way, so we're going to head down Grady."

"Wait, what? Isn't Grady a two lane street?"

But the caravan had already started to move onto the smaller street.

They didn't get too far before the first brick came raining down. It crashed into the street, shattering.

A cry went up from the police, who backed towards the vehicles, holding their shields above their heads. They pulled their pistols from the holsters.

A couple more bricks were thrown down from the apartments above, then some more, then it became a torrent as more rioters joined on the upper floors above.

The police knelt, holding their shields above them, bricks shattering into them, bouncing onto the street. A few of the officers cried out, having been hit. The glass of the firetrucks shattered, but the bulletproof windshields of the riot vehicles held.

Some of the police fired upward, but there were too many bricks raining down to aim.

A fucking trap, James realized.

The police heard a scream and watched as a person fell from the stories above, landing with a sickening crunch on the sidewalk below. Soon another followed.

Pull back, pull back, a cry went up, and the vehicles were put into reverse. The police guided the now blind firetrucks backward, back towards Grand Boulevard, where the street was wider. Still the bricks came raining down. The police fired more shots, more bodies fell to the street below.

Aaron knelt by one of the bodies, and waved James over.

"What's up?" James asked.

"Look," Aaron pointed. "Ripped open. Like the others."

"What the fuck."

"We aren't hitting them with our bullets. Whatever is doing that to them? It's up there. Up there right now."

As if to punctuate the point, another body shattered into the street from above.

The caravan began to back onto Grand Boulevard, reverse signals beeping moronically. The bricks continued to be thrown down.

Finally the last of the caravan backed onto the larger street, away from the bricks.

James and Aaron hurried to rejoin the group. Suddenly, Aaron crumpled to the ground.

James stopped and ran to the other officer.

"You OK? You OK?" he yelled.

Aaron didn't hear. He'd been hit in the helmet by one of the bricks, and laid on the street, stunned.

James yelled for help from some of the other police, he couldn't tell if they heard him or not.

"Hang tight, buddy, I'm going to get help," James said, and stood to go.

Just then the doors of the apartment buildings on the street the police had just retreated from opened, and dozens of people came running out. James pulled his pistol and pointed towards them.

"Stop!" he yelled. "Fucking stop!"

But the people were running in all directions, panicked.

"Stop!" James yelled again.

Another body crashed into the street.

And then James saw it.

The Hawk landed onto the street and grabbed one of the rioters by the neck. She lifted the rioter into the air as if he weighed nothing, and flicked out her hand, slashing the rioter open. She dropped him on the ground as if he was nothing and grabbed another.

"You fucking idiots," she hissed.

James stepped in front of her.

"Stop," he croaked. He pointed his pistol at her. "Stop killing them."

The Hawk eviscerated the woman she had grabbed, tossing the woman aside casually.

"I'm on your side, officer," the Hawk said. "I've been sent to help you."

"No. No. Just stop. What are you?"

The Hawk laughed.

"What am I? Fuck, I don't know. How the fuck do I know what I am anymore? I'm just here to kill these assholes, for which you could be thankful."

"No. Stop."

She kept laughing.

"Hey, look, officer," she pointed. "Some of them are getting down the street. I'm going to fly over there and catch them, and kill them, and all you need to do is just leave me to it."

"I can't let you do that."

"I mean I'm going to do that."

"You can't."

His hand was shaking as he pointed the pistol towards the Hawk.

The Hawk appeared to think for a moment or two.

"So," she seemed to think out loud. "Seems to me like you might be on the wrong side, officer. Seems to me like even though you are a cop, that you might be preventing me from bringing these assholes to justice. Seems to me like I can't have that."

"I can't let you kill them."

"My orders are very clear. I have been told to kill anyone rioting and working against the police."

"But I am the police. And I'm telling you not to kill anyone."

"This is a bit of a dilemma."

"Doesn't have to be. Just do what I'm telling you to do."

"You know what?"

"What?"

The Hawk was on James almost before he could react, but not before he got a shot off. The bullet bounced harmlessly off her.

The Hawk lashed out, slashing across James' throat. His blood leapt out in an arc as he tried to keep it in with his hands.

"I'm not a fucking philosopher, man, that's what," she said, standing above him. "You should have just run away or something. Now you died for nothing."

She spread her wings and leapt up into the sky.

***

Anna heard the shot.

She made her way through the shadows to where it sounded like the shot had come from.

When she found James, his blood was already congealing on the cool pavement of the street. His lifeless eyes looked up into the sky, as if he were trying to tell Anna where his killer had gone.

Or whatever.

Anna knelt by her old friend.

"Oh, James," she whispered.

Behind her she heard some shuffling as another police officer struggled to his feet.

"You OK," Anna asked him, not taking her eyes from James.

"Fuck," he said, pulling his helmet off and rubbing his head.

"Yeah," she said. "Fuck."

"Shit," Aaron hissed, realizing the other officer was dead, his voice breaking. "What the fuck happened?"

Anna stood up.

"You should really just get out of here," she advised.

"I need to ask you some questions."

"Some other time," she told him. "It's getting dark. That's when I move best. Time to get to work."

She stepped back, and was gone.