The Death and Life of Superman (21 page)

“Sounded as though it came from the other side of that dump truck,” said a backhoe operator. The dump truck’s driver was craning his head in puzzlement.

The dump truck suddenly lurched crazily to one side. The driver tumbled from the cab, screaming, as a huge, hulking figure lifted the truck up over its head.

A hod carrier dropped his load of bricks and jumped back. “What the devil is that?”

“I dunno.” The foreman was already looking around, waving away his men. “Just run!”

The dump truck went flying, landing in a tangled heap beside a big diesel crane. Roaring his defiance, Doomsday strode into the midst of the site, grabbing two construction workers by their heads. One worker barely had time to scream before the monster snapped his neck like a matchstick. The other was speechless, still gasping for breath, as Doomsday hurled him against a steel support column.

Superman was just a few hundred feet away when he saw the second man slump lifeless to the ground. He could feel his blood pressure spiking. Doomsday had knocked at the door of the city—his city—and already two men were dead. Superman dove at the monster. There was a sharp crack as his fists found their target in Doomsday’s kidneys . . .
If he has kidneys,
thought Superman. Filling his lungs with air, the Man of Steel then grabbed hold of his enemy’s bony back and rocketed straight up.
We’ll see who can hold his breath longer on the moon!

As they closed in on the construction site, Lois nearly shouted into the microphone. “We’ve got him, Fran! New paragraph . . . Doomsday’s rampage in Park Ridge was cut short when Superman grabbed the monster . . . comma . . . rocketing him away from Metropolis toward the vacuum of space . . . period.”

Jimmy reached the end of a roll of film and grabbed up a second camera. “Man, that has to be the ugliest cuss Superman’s ever fought! Did you get a really good look at him, Lois? He’s got a hide like an elephant and a face like five miles of bad road!” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy noticed the worry on his friend’s face. “Hey, don’t sweat it, Lois. Superman . . . he’ll be okay!”

“Guardian!”

Jim Harper stirred, roused to consciousness by a voice in his head.

“Guardian, are you all right?”

Harper blinked. He was alone, but he could feel a presence with him. And when he closed his eyes, it seemed that he could almost see a face staring back at him, a gray-skinned, horn-headed face.

“Dubbilex?”

“Yes.”
From deep within the Project, the DNAlien reached out to Harper telepathically.

He could feel Dubbilex’s relief wash over him. “What happened?”

The responding thought was instantaneous:
“As near as I can tell, that Doomsday creature left you and Superman for dead, buried in the rubble of Habitat. When you failed to respond to a radio summons, I . . . came ‘looking’ for you.”

“Superman . . .” The Guardian sat up and looked around him. The rubble had been scooped out and massive chunks of wood stacked protectively around him. “Where’s Superman?”

“Already revived and gone in pursuit of Doomsday. He was digging you out even as I found you. He was quite concerned about you, but I assured him that I could see to your well-being.”
The air shimmered, and Dubbilex’s visage appeared clearer, stronger.
“He is a good man, Jim . . . a good friend. I felt in him a great sense of duty. He is determined to stop the creature.”

The Guardian rose painfully to his feet. “I’m afraid Doomsday may be too big for even Superman to handle alone.”

Was the mental image frowning? It was sometimes hard to tell with Dubbilex.
“I fear that Doomsday might be one of ours, Guardian . . . a DNAlien. Perhaps another Dabney Donovan creation.”

That thought had already crossed the Guardian’s mind. He looked around at the ruins of Habitat and prayed that their fear was unfounded, that Cadmus wasn’t responsible. “We have to find out. Can you get a mind-fix on Doomsday?”

“It will not be easy at this distance, but I shall try.”
The image of Dubbilex flickered out, and the Guardian set out to find his motorcycle. He located it, back up on its kickstand at the edge of the space that Superman had cleared around him.

Suddenly Dubbilex’s visage reappeared.
“I have found him.”
The telepath seemed very alarmed.
“There is nothing in his mind but anger . . . no thought but destruction. I cannot tell from where he came.”

“It’s all right, Dub.” The Guardian kick-started his bike. “We’ll have to work hard to stop him, in any case—if anyone
can
stop him.”

Three miles up over Metropolis, Doomsday fought to break Superman’s grip. Twisting free, the creature drove the air from his captor’s lungs with a savage kick and leapt toward the heart of the city. Aboard the
Planet
helicopter, Lois’s heart caught in her throat as she saw the stunned Superman hurtle Earthward. He tumbled out of control, crashing down through the steel skeleton of the building under construction at the Park Ridge office park.

Just a few hundred yards away, the WGBS copter wheeled around in Cat Grant’s direction. “Superman’s down!” She could hardly believe it. “Get closer! We can’t miss this shot.”

One time zone away, Martha Kent had been in the middle of cleaning the parlor when the news first broke into her soap opera. She had dropped her Aunt Gracie’s milk-glass vase and run to the barn to call in her husband. The vase still lay in pieces where it had fallen beside the old Hoosier cabinet, forgotten as Martha and Jonathan sat on the old parlor sofa, their eyes glued to the images on the television. With a start, Martha realized that Clark had given them the set two anniversaries ago.

The station cut to a dizzying shot of the wrecked steel skeleton of a building. “. . . Here, live at the scene, is WGBS’s Catherine Grant.”

“Roland, in a battle that has raged across nearly a third of the nation, Superman has so far been unable to stop the Doomsday monster. In fact, as you can see, he’s not having an easy time of things at all!”

Martha winced, clamping her eyes tightly shut, and felt Jonathan’s arm immediately slip gently over her shoulders.

“That’s our son, Jonathan! He’s being beaten to a pulp, and those TV reporters are treating it as . . . as entertainment!”

“I know . . . I know.” Jonathan Kent drew in a deep breath, searching for the right words. Sometimes he thought his whole life had been a search for those words. “Clark may be our boy, Martha, but to the world he’s Superman. It’s not that they’re callous. Least, they don’t mean to be. It’s just that they don’t think anything bad can really happen to him.”

Civil defense and emergency sirens wailed all over Metropolis. Radio and television stations shifted over to the Emergency Broadcast System, and on the streets, police loudspeakers began warning people to take shelter.

At the counter of the Hob’s Bay Grille, Professor Emil Hamilton looked up from his pie and coffee. He had been composing a compliment to Mildred’s appearance—
Must be careful, can’t appear too forward
—when a high-pitched hum suddenly blared from the little diner’s radio, most rudely interrupting “Begin the Beguine.”

“Attention! This is not a test! Local, state, and federal authorities have declared a state of emergency to exist in the greater Metropolis area. Citizens are urged to seek shelter immediately. If you are within the sound of my voice, tune your radio to 860 kilohertz AM or 93.1 megahertz FM for more information over your designated local Emergency Broadcast Station. Repeat, this is not a test! WUMT must now sign off for the duration of the emergency . . .”

Emil looked at Mildred and blinked. The waitress’s face had gone white, and she was frantically pounding on the old radio’s dial.

“I told ’im! I told ’im, but would he listen?”

“Whatever is the trouble, Mildred?”

“I don’t know! We may never know! The tuner on this thing’s been busted for nearly a year! I told the owner, but he said one station was enough! Now what do we do?”

“Well, we can’t stay here, my dear! I haven’t a clue as to what sort of emergency this is, but the Grille, for all its virtues, is hardly a fortified shelter. Get your coat! I’ll help you lock up and we can repair to my building. I’ve plenty of provisions, and the lab has sufficient stores to hold off a small army, I daresay.”

Mildred forced a brave smile. She didn’t know what was happening, but if the world might be coming to an end, she could think of few people she’d rather see it out with. “Just let me lock up the register.”

Arm in arm, Emil and Mildred sprinted down the rapidly emptying streets. A block away, a police cruiser was warning people to stay inside. “Whatever could be going on?” muttered Emil.

From behind them came a low growl. “Doomsday’s comin’!”

They nearly jumped out of their shoes. Emil was about to grab Mildred and run when he realized that they were in front of the Ace o’ Clubs, and that the growl had come from the man standing in the shadows of the doorway.

“Bibbowski!” There were few people in the neighborhood who had not encountered the tavern’s proprietor. “What are you talking about?”

“Doomsday,” repeated Bibbo. “He’s some big monster, see? My fav’rit’s been chasin’ him cross country—an’ gettin’ nowheres!”

“Your favorite?” Mildred was quickly regaining her composure.

Emil knew there was one man whom Bibbo regarded over all others. “You mean Superman, of course! This Doomsday monster has been giving Superman trouble?”

Bibbo looked troubled. “Yeah—it’s been on the TV all afternoon. Can’t understand it. Sooperman’s the toughest guy I ever met, tougher even’n me! But he can’t seem to stop the ugly so-an’-so!” Bibbo’s countenance suddenly brightened. “Perfesser, yer smart! Can you think of any ways to help ’im?”

Emil’s mind was racing. “Perhaps. But I have to know more about this creature. There may be something in my lab—!”

“Hey, I’m comin’ wit’ youse!” Bibbo straightened his cap.

“Really, that’s not necessary—!” Emil began to protest.

“Hey, if I can do anything to help youse help my fav’rit, I’m gonna do it!” He turned to shout back into the bar. “Lamarr, I got stuff to do. Stay put an’ look after things for me while I’m gone, okay?”

“No problem, Bibbo.”

“An’ don’t let me catch you an’ Highpockets downing too many free beers this time!”

A cheery belch echoed from within the tavern. Satisfied, Bibbo turned and threw a protective arm around both Emil and Mildred. “Okay, now let’s go help Sooperman!”

Back at the Park Ridge construction site, a huge pile of scattered girders shifted. And then, from the bottom of the pile, Superman emerged, shouldering aside several tons of steel, a trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth.
Blood? When was the last time I was hurt badly enough to bleed? If I’ve become that vulnerable, my reserves must really be depleted. Better finish this quick, if I’m going to finish it at all.
He emerged from the wreckage, aching with every move, his cape in tatters.
Shouldn’t be hard to find him . . . just have to follow the path of destruction.

With a running stride, Superman leapt uncertainly into the air. The coppery taste in his mouth was turning his stomach. All he could think of was that time when he was four, before his powers began to develop. He’d fallen from his folks’ old walnut tree, breaking his arm. It’d hurt so bad, he’d bitten his lip, and the taste . . .
Careful, Clark! This’s uncomfortably like having your life flash before your eyes.
He tried not to think of the danger. He could not stop now, could not waver. The lives of too many people depended on him. In the distance, across the river, a cloud of smoke rose where a high-rise apartment had once stood. To his ears, it seemed that every siren in the city was sounding. As he flew deeper into the heart of Metropolis, Superman concentrated, screening out the sirens, listening for the squawk of police radios.

“Attention, all units! Doomsday has been sighted—repeat, Doomsday has been sighted—on the four-hundred block of Shayne Boulevard.”

The four-hundred block of Shayne . . . that’s where the Newtown Plaza is being built.
Superman poured on the speed.
Doomsday’s found another construction site to attack.

As he approached the half-completed complex, Superman saw a huge hole near the foundation of the main tower.
Oh, great. He’s gone underground!
The Man of Steel plunged down through the hole, a maze of ancient pipes stretching all around him. The lead pipes inhibited his vision, but following the trail of debris, he finally found his quarry. Doomsday was ripping his way into the Metropolis sewer system.

Leaping onto the monster’s back, Superman reached under Doomsday’s arms and around the back of his neck, gripping him in a full nelson.

“Stop squirming, damn you! You’re not kicking free of me this time!” Then Superman caught the telltale scent of leaking gas.

With Doomsday in tow, he shot toward the surface. As they emerged into the light of day, construction workers were still being evacuated from the Newtown Plaza complex.

“Come on, move it! Move it!” The job foreman desperately herded his workers away from the towers.

Amidst all the chaos and confusion, ironworker Henry Johnson saw the monster flailing away at Superman. “What is that thing?”

“Ain’tcha heard? That’s Doomsday. He’s a demon or something—and he’s been kickin’ Superman’s butt all over town.”

“No way, man. No way!” Henry bolted away from the others, grabbing up a sledgehammer on the run. Sledge in hand, he vaulted over a small stack of girders, determined to help Superman stop the monster.

Deep underground, the leaking gas flowed over a sparking power line. There was a sudden, violent, foundation-rattling explosion, and the largest of the complex’s buildings split wide open. Henry Johnson fell to his knees, and the floors above fell on top of him as the entire central borough shook from the force of the blast.