Countdown. Part 3

Horrified by their comrade's grisly demise, the remaining skinheads fled the building as fast as their rubbery legs could carry them. Mary instinctively ran in the opposite direction, toward the back of the lobby. Maybe there was a rear exit or something? She only got a few feet, however, before she tripped over something lying in her path.

Or someone.

Tumbling onto the floor, she reached out to break her fall. Her fingers grabbed on to something dry and withered. Teeth rattled beneath her hand, and she felt the bony outline of a skull beneath her palm. Her fingernails poked through brittle, parchment-like skin. "Aaach!" She yanked her hand back as she instantly grasped that she was touching a dead body. She rolled away from the corpse, only to b.u.mp into another body just a few inches away. Her eyes widened in horror as she scrambled away from yet more bodies, which seemed to be all around her. Almost a dozen corpses, in various states of decay, were strewn about the floor. Missing limbs, broken necks, and large brown bloodstains testified to the extreme violence that had ended the victims' lives. The smell of rotting flesh filled Mary's mouth and lungs. Desiccated faces held expressions of unimaginable horror, and mice had gnawed on the sundered remains. A spider emerged from a vacant eye socket.

"Who . . . ?" Her appalled gaze darted from body to body, each more mutilated than the one before. Random limbs were scattered like puzzle pieces. "Who are they... ?"

"Drug addicts, squatters, real estate agents." The dour voice conveyed equal quant.i.ties of scorn for all of the above. Mary glimpsed a shadowy figure perched on the bal.u.s.trade running along the edge of the mezzanine. "People stupid enough to intrude upon my solitude." A snarl distorted his voice. "People like you."

Defying gravity, the figure hurled himself off the balcony and swooped down toward Mary. A shaft of light from an upstairs window exposed one of the world's most wanted fugitives: the genocidal super-man known as Black Adam.

There was no mistaking him. A powerfully built Arab man, he wore a tight black uniform that contrasted sharply with his golden boots, sash, and wristbands. Sleek black hair met in a widow's peak above his saturnine features. The golden thunderbolt emblazoned on his chest matched those worn by Captain Marvel and the rest of the Marvel Family, including, not so long ago, Mary herself. Indeed, Teth-Adam had been the wizard Shazam's original champion, back in the days of the pharaohs, until anger and ambition overcame his soul, transforming the heroic Mighty Adam into the dreaded Black Adam. Fresh blood dripped from his bare hands.

Those gore-stained hands came at Mary, eager to throttle the life from her.

"Adam! Wait!" She jumped to her feet. "It's me, Mary Batson!"

Her frantic cry got his attention. Pausing in midlunge, he touched down onto the floor and scrutinized the cowering girl before him. A cruel smile lifted the corners of his lips as he recognized Mary's mortal incarnation.

"Well, then," he said darkly. "Perhaps this day is not a total loss."

Mary shuddered. The last time she had encountered Black Adam, during his rampage three months ago, his t.i.tanic blow had put her into a coma from which she had only just awakened. He was the last person she wanted to face right now, especially with her powers missing. She was all too aware that he could tear her apart as easily as he'd killed all these other people.

"You seem afraid to see me, Mary," he observed.

"Well, y-yes." She realized now that this abandoned building must have formerly been the Kahndaqi consulate. Until recently, Black Adam had been the unquestioned ruler of that small Middle Eastern nation. No wonder this place had felt familiar. It reminded her of Adam's sumptuous palace in Kahndaq. "These bodies . . . the horrors you've committed . . ."

There had been a time, only a year ago, when it had seemed that Black Adam had reformed. His marriage to the beautiful Egyptian heroine Isis had softened his heart and quelled the murderous fury that had consumed him for over three thousand years. Along with her younger brother, Osiris, Adam and Isis had employed their supernatural powers for the betterment of Kahndaq. Mighty Adam had become his people's champion once more. But when nefarious foes struck back at Adam, killing both Isis and Osiris, the old Black Adam had returned with a vengeance, las.h.i.+ng out at the world. It had taken the combined efforts of Captain Marvel and the entire Justice Society to stop him. Eluding capture, he had been in hiding ever since.

"Horrors?" He angrily smashed his fist into a nearby column. Shards of shattered marble went flying. "The world stole my homeland and my family from me! You dare to judge me!" Rumor had it that Black Adam had been magically stripped of his powers, but apparently that was no longer the case. He gestured savagely at the corpses on the floor. "These others paid the price for disturbing me. That you too have worn the lightning bolt across your chest will not spare you their fate!"

He stalked toward her, his dark eyes gleaming balefully. "Teth-Adam . . . wait!" Mary pleaded. "I found you by accident, I swear! I haven't come to judge you...." She swallowed hard as a disturbing possibility occurred to her. "I think, maybe, I was sent here somehow . . . for your help?"

"Help?" The sheer absurdity of her request gave Black Adam pause. He eyed her warily, as though suspecting that this might be a trick of some kind. "Where is your brother if you need help? Where is the n.o.ble Captain Marvel?"

"I don't know!" Mary confessed. "I've been looking for him everywhere." She figured she had nothing to lose by telling the truth. Besides, if Black Adam had somehow regained his powers, wasn't it possible that he might know how to restore hers as well? "When I was drawn here, part of me hoped that it was Billy calling me, but maybe . . . I mean, we're the same right now, abandoned, alone, scared. Well, I am anyway." She chose her words carefully, not wanting to provoke the hot-tempered fugitive. "But, Adam, you're still connected to the magic. You're not helpless. Your powers make you strong. . . ."

"My powers?" Black Adam surprised Mary by laughing out loud. Gales of bitter hilarity poured out of him, causing him to quake from head to toe. Tears leaked from his eyes. "My powers . . . hah!"

Mary didn't get it. "Uh, did I say something funny?"

The immortal villain struggled to bring his laughter under control. "When I think of what my power has brought me . . ." He wiped a tear from his eye as his voice a.s.sumed a more somber tone. "No, that is not correct. When I think of what my power has cost me . . ."

Had he lost his mind, or just all hope of happiness? "They're not a curse," Mary insisted. "They're a gift!" Even after everything that had happened to him, she couldn't believe that Black Adam didn't appreciate having his powers back. She would have traded places with him in a second. "I wish-"

"You wish?" he interrupted her. He seemed intrigued by her reaction. All traces of his unsettling hysterics vanished as he regarded her with a speculative expression upon his regal face. He stood astride the bodies of his victims like Anubis, the ancient Egyptian G.o.d of the underworld. "Make no mistake. Just as these unwary fools asked for death by coming here, so do you risk it by beseeching my aid."

Trembling, Mary stood her ground. "I don't want to die, but I can't live like this anymore." She remembered how terrified she had been when the muggers were chasing her; she never wanted to feel that weak and powerless again. "Please! I just want my old life back!"

"I fear that's impossible, Mary." Black Adam stepped forward and laid his palm upon her brow. He could have crushed her skull like an eggsh.e.l.l, but instead he spoke like a judge imposing a death sentence. "But I can ease your loneliness . . . with the company of the G.o.ds." He peered down at Mary's anguished face. Hot tears streaked her cheeks. She wrung her hands. "Is this truly what you seek?"

Mary nodded.

"So be it," he declared. "Shazam!"

Thunder boomed inside the deserted consulate. A bolt of eldritch lightning lit up the darkened interior, striking the floor of the lobby with explosive force. A mystical shock wave drove Adam and Mary apart, even as the crystal chandelier crashed to the floor. Billowing clouds of dust and smoke filled the air, obscuring Mary's vision, but she barely noticed the haze at first. Something far more compelling was taking place inside her.

As fast as lightning, supernatural energy coursed through her body. An ecstatic convulsion left her gasping. It was like the charge she had always felt when transforming into Mary Marvel, and yet strangely different somehow. More potent, more primal . . . almost intoxicating. The voices of ancient deities whispered seductively inside her skull. Her skin tingled with divine electricity. Closing her eyes, she luxuriated in the sheer euphoria of the moment. So overpowering was the sensation that it took her a second or two to realize that she was now floating several inches above the floor.

Holy Moley! she thought breathlessly. I feel incredible!

A rasping cough intruded on her rapture. Glancing down, she saw that Adam was pinned beneath the fallen chandelier. A few minutes ago, he could have easily tossed the ma.s.sive conglomeration of crystals aside, but now he strained futilely to lift the wrecked chandelier off his trapped torso. He grunted between coughs, exerting all his might, but the glittering debris stubbornly refused to budge. His flushed face was scratched and bleeding.

"Here," Mary Marvel said, descending to the ground. Broken crystals crunched beneath her boots. "Let me help."

Reaching down, she effortlessly hefted the chandelier and hurled it away. It crashed loudly into a wall several yards away. A battered figure, clad in the simple linen garments of ancient Egypt, rose to his knees. Dust caked his flesh and clothes. No longer imbued with the power of an entire pantheon, the mortal Teth-Adam peered up at Mary through the fading haze. A bemused expression came over his narrow face. "By the G.o.ds, Mary," he said archly, "look how you've grown."

She gazed down at herself in surprise. Instead of the brightly colored cape and costume she had previously worn as Mary Marvel, a satiny black sheath now clung to her body, far more tightly than her old uniform ever had. A short black skirt exposed her bare legs. Jet-black gloves and boots matched her new outfit. Only the golden thunderbolt on her chest added a touch of color to her ensemble, which was clearly a feminine version of Black Adam's old uniform.

But not just her costume had changed. The slim young teenager now possessed the ample figure of a full-grown woman. l.u.s.trous brown hair cascaded past her shoulders. Generous curves filled out the skintight silk dress.

It was a lot to take in. Momentarily speechless, Mary compared her striking black attire to Teth-Adam's humble garments. His own physique was noticeably slighter than before. His face was drawn and weary-looking. Smudgy purple bags shadowed his mournful eyes. The full enormity of what had just transpired gradually sank in. "You . . . you've given me . . ."

"All of it," he confirmed. Rising to his feet, he brushed the dust and ash from his arms and legs. Small cuts and bruises attested to the loss of his former invulnerability. "Not just my own power, but that of my late wife as well. You now possess the magic of Isis, along with the wizard's accursed gift."

Mary was baffled by his sacrifice. "Why?"

"I have lived long enough with the burden," he said acidly. "Over three millennia, to be exact." He looked accusingly at Mary. "Besides, this is what you wanted, is it not?"

I guess so, Mary thought. It was hard to see a downside to Adam transferring all his powers to her. She certainly deserved them more.

Turning his back on her, Teth-Adam staggered toward the exit. Mary experienced a moment of anxiety as he moved to leave her behind in the ruined consulate. Smoke rose from the cremated remains of his victims, which had been reduced to ashes by the sizzling lightning bolt. She could still feel the wild magic surging inside her, changing her. Competing voices jostled for attention at the back of her mind. "Teth-Adam?" she called out hesitantly, uncertain what exactly this new power meant. "I . . . What can I do?"

Framed in the doorway, he glanced back over his shoulder. A rueful expression came over his haggard countenance. "If you see your brother," he said, with what might have been a touch of remorse, "tell him . . . I'm sorry."

Huh? Mary thought. What does he mean by that?

33 AND COUNTING.

METROPOLIS.

Holly Robinson trudged through the Greyhound Bus Station, doing her best to keep a low profile. To her relief, none of the other travelers making their way across the crowded terminal appeared to be paying any attention to the inconspicuous young woman wearing an open army-surplus jacket over jeans and a h.e.l.lo Kitty T-s.h.i.+rt. A hunting cap was clamped tightly onto her head, the visor and earflaps helping to conceal her gamine features. Mirrored sungla.s.ses hid her tired blue eyes. Her short red hair was now dyed a mousy shade of brown. A battered canvas travel bag, containing all that remained of her worldly possessions, was slung over her shoulder. Scuffed black boots carried her through the station, which felt oppressively warm. Overdressed for the temperature, she sweated beneath her thick jacket. Her b.u.t.t ached from the two-hour bus ride from Gotham City. A pair of cheap wool gloves kept her fingerprints to herself.

Welcome to the Big Apricot, she thought.

A newsstand displayed a variety of daily papers. Holly paused to glance over the headlines. "EVEN G.o.dS DIE!" proclaimed the front page of the Daily Planet, above a black-and-white photo of Superman bearing the lifeless body of some costumed alien named Lightray, but it was today's edition of the Gotham Gazette that made her heart miss a beat. "COP KILLER STILL AT LARGE!" her hometown newspaper lamented, above an unflattering mug shot of one Holly Robinson.

Oh, c.r.a.p! She resisted the urge to flip the topmost paper over and instead crept furtively away from the newsstand, keeping her head low. Her finger pressed the shades farther up her nose, just to make sure they stayed in place. Spotting a bored-looking cop standing guard over the station, she took the long way around to avoid him. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. There were way too many copies of the Gazette floating around the station. At any moment she expected someone to look up from their paper and shout, "There she is! The cop killer!"

In fact, the truth was far more complicated. Not so long ago, Holly had prowled the East End of Gotham as Catwoman, filling in for Selina Kyle, the original Catwoman, while Selina was on her own version of maternity leave. Holly was not nearly the femme fatale that Selina was, but she'd thought she filled Catwoman's black leather boots reasonably well, until a run-in with two s.a.d.i.s.tic Russian super-villains exposed her secret ident.i.ty-and cost an unlucky cop his head. Holly had not been responsible for the detective's grisly decapitation, but try telling an outraged G.C.P.D. that. With the entire police force out for her blood, she'd been lucky to get out of Gotham at all....

Exiting the bus station, she wandered out onto the sidewalk. A cold autumn breeze drove her to pull her jacket closed. Busy pedestrians bustled past her, intent on their own errands. Car horns punctuated a steady rush of lateafternoon traffic. She rested her bag on the pavement, giving her shoulders a break, while she tried to figure out which way to go. This was her first time in Metropolis, and the strange city stretched out all around her, vast and intimidating. The names and numbers on the unfamiliar street signs meant nothing to her. Born and raised in Gotham, Holly felt lost and alone.

Her spirits sank. In a moment of weakness, she extracted a cell phone from her pocket. An on-screen menu listed her most frequent contacts: Selina, Bruce, d.i.c.k, Karon.

Karon . . .

Her throat tightened and a solitary tear ran down her cheek. Karon's smiling face, spiky pink hair, and hip designer gla.s.ses surfaced from her memory. Holly's index finger hovered over the name of her girlfriend. She'd give anything to hear Karon's voice right now.

"No!" she whispered hoa.r.s.ely as her better judgment overruled her longing. Holly's nocturnal clashes with Gotham's criminal underworld had already put Karon in the intensive care ward once. Never again, Holly vowed. She loved Karon too much to bring down any more heat on her. Holly may have left a certain glossy black catsuit behind in Gotham, but she knew that she was still bad luck for anyone who got too close to her. The best thing she could do for Karon, and all her other friends and loved ones, was disappear entirely.

She tossed the phone into a nearby waste bin. A scuzzy-looking homeless guy immediately pounced on the discarded piece of tech. Help yourself, Holly thought. It's all yours.

Hefting her heavy bag back onto her shoulder, she took off down the street toward nowhere in particular. The bus station turned out to be located in a somewhat seedy part of town, around the corner from a topless bar and a plasma collection center. Flophouses, soup kitchens, and liquor stores catered to a less than affluent clientele. Broken gla.s.s, crushed beer cans, and cigarette b.u.t.ts littered the sidewalk. The area looked slightly cleaner than the East End back home, but only by a hair. She appeared to have traded one slum for another, except that now she was just as homeless as the winos and beggars slumped on the stoops around her.

You can do this, she reminded herself. You've lived like this before. She'd been a teenage runaway at thirteen, fleeing an abusive home environment, and had never looked back. It only feels like your life is over. Think of this as a whole new start.

Yeah, right.

"Excuse me, you look like you need a place to stay."

She rolled her eyes. I should've seen this coming. Pimps were always haunting bus stations looking for fresh meat, as Holly knew from personal experience. She'd worked the streets herself, as "Holly Gonightly," before Selina helped her escape that life.

"Sorry," she said brusquely, not even turning around to look at the speaker. "I don't do that anymore."

Part of her kind of hoped that the stranger wouldn't take no for answer. Her fists bunched in antic.i.p.ation. Kicking a little bad-guy a.s.s might be just what she needed right now. Don't mess with me, b.i.t.c.h. I've been trained by Catwoman herself.

A feminine chuckle greeted her refusal. "You mistake my intentions. I'm no predator, just a concerned sister."

Holly turned around and was surprised to behold a statuesque woman clad in a flowing silk robe. Auburn hair was bound up at the back of her head in a matronly fas.h.i.+on. Cool gray eyes peered from the woman's elegant features. Her narrow lips and strong chin reminded Holly of a priceless Greek idol Selina had once stolen from the Gotham Museum. A golden circlet crowned the woman's high forehead, while more gold glittered upon her throat, wrists, and ears. In her sandaled feet, she stood at least a head taller than Holly. The brisk fall weather seemed to have no effect on her.

"I have to admit," Holly conceded, "you don't look like the usual chicken hawk."

"Call me Athena." The woman's deep voice held a trace of an exotic accent. "I run the women's shelter across the street." She pointed at a nondescript redbrick building on the other side of the avenue. A surprisingly cla.s.sy-looking collection of tapestries and ceramics was displayed in the first-floor window. Medusa's head, complete with serpentine tresses, was embossed upon a hanging bronze s.h.i.+eld occupying a place of a honor within the exhibit. A freshly painted sign, mounted over the front entrance, identified the building as the Athenian Women's Shelter.

Holly recalled that Athena was the Greek G.o.ddess of wisdom. She was supposed to be tight with Wonder Woman these days. The graceful stranger certainly looked the part, but surely she didn't expect Holly to believe that she was actually that Athena?

Did she?

"I have a feeling that you'll find a place for yourself there." She raised her arm and, to Holly's amazement, a snow-white owl descended from the sky to alight upon Athena's wrist. "If not, you don't have to stay."

Although flummoxed by the unexpected appearance of the owl, Holly remained wary. She eyed her would-be benefactor suspiciously. "Really?"

"You have my word."

Holly considered the offer. The sun was sinking toward the horizon and it was already starting to get darker and colder outside. Her stomach grumbled irritably; lunch had been a bag of potato chips from a vending machine back in Gotham. What can it hurt? she thought. Maybe I can get a warm meal out of this, then bail later if things get weird.

Nodding, she followed Athena across the street. The sidewalk in front of the shelter was noticeably cleaner than the rest of the block. Stone gryphons guarded the front steps. Athena opened the door and stepped aside to let the younger woman enter. Holly kept her guard up, but wasn't too worried. Even if this was some sort of trap, she was confident that she could take care of . . .

Her jaw dropped.

For a moment, Holly thought she'd died and gone to lesbian heaven. The doorway opened onto a s.p.a.cious lobby holding dozens of lithe young women in short linen tunics. Of every race and ethnicity, they milled about the palatial chamber, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, seemingly without a care in the world. More women lounged on scattered chairs and sofas, snacking on olives and wine. Holly tried not to ogle the other gals too obviously, but couldn't help noticing that they were all attractive and in excellent shape, without an ounce of flab or cellulite among them. Speechless, she wondered if she had accidentally wandered into an audition for America's Next Top Amazon....

The lobby's decor matched the overpowering beauty of its inhabitants. Belying its humdrum outer facade, the building's interior was a masterpiece of cla.s.sical Greek architecture. Pristine white columns supported the domed ceiling, which boasted s.h.i.+ning gold filigree. Marble statues of willowy nymphs, muses, and G.o.ddesses occupied arched niches and alcoves. Olive trees sprouted from decorative ceramic urns. Perfume scented the air, which was invitingly warm and toasty, and a lyre played softly in the background. Holly lifted her shades to make sure she was seeing correctly. She shook her head in disbelief. Overall, this place looked more like a five-star hotel or spa than any homeless shelter she had ever set foot in before.

Who's funding this joint? Bruce Wayne?

Athena entered behind her. The owl hooted happily and soared out over the nubile throng. Curious eyes turned toward Holly.

"Welcome home, Holly," Athena said warmly.

So dumbfounded was the streetwise fugitive that it never even occurred to her to wonder how the other woman knew her name.

METROPOLIS.

Suicide Slum was only slightly less threatening in broad daylight. p.a.w.n shops, liquor stores, taverns, adult video stores, tattoo parlors, and check-cas.h.i.+ng venues made up the bulk of the local businesses. "SHOW OFF!" had been spray-painted onto the hood of a snazzy green sports car that someone had foolishly parked by the curb. Gangs of street toughs lounged on the stoops and sidewalks, laughing raucously amongst themselves while making rude comments to unlucky pa.s.sersby. Most pedestrians hurried past them, eyes carefully lowered in hopes of avoiding a confrontation.

But not Jimmy. Dressed in his Sunday best, he strolled down Hob's Lane whistling a pop tune. Two of his priciest cameras dangled from his neck. His press pa.s.s was pinned to the lapel of a designer jacket. The rubber soles of his deluxe running shoes slapped against the dirty pavement. Jimmy figured he made a pretty tempting target, which was the whole idea. He had even considered donning a bow tie for the occasion, but that might have been pus.h.i.+ng it.

His nonchalant air was just an act. A trickle of sweat, running down his temple, betrayed his anxiety. Walking around Suicide Slum like this was just asking for trouble. I gotta be nuts, he thought, but how else was he going to figure out what was up with his on-again, off-again superpowers? As nearly as he could tell, they only manifested under stress, like when he or someone else was in danger. This isn't suicide, he told himself. It's a scientific experiment.

Sort of.

"S'up, fellas?" he cheerfully greeted a trio of tough-looking customers who were camped out on the stoop of a graffiti-covered crack house. Matching red bandannas and pyramid amulets tagged them as members in full standing of the Sphinxes, one of the city's most violent street gangs. Tank tops, baggy trousers, and spiky Mohawks made an intimidating fas.h.i.+on statement. They glowered at the towheaded interloper who'd had the nerve to address them so familiarly. "How about those Metros?"

"Metros suck, yo!" The punks jumped to their feet, all too obviously spoiling for a fight. Their eyes gleamed with bloodthirsty antic.i.p.ation. Clenched fists gave away their intentions. "We're Yankee fans!"

"In fact," a second tough explained, "we're on our way to a game right now." He grinned maliciously. "Maybe we take your cameras, so we can get some pictures, and your money, so we can buy the tickets."

"And your shoes," the third hood added. "Just because."

They surrounded Jimmy on the sidewalk, cutting off any chance of escape. Nearby pedestrians hurried away in the opposite direction, doing their best not to get involved in the fracas. Part of Jimmy wished he could join them.

Here goes nothing.

"Oh yeah?" he challenged them. Raising his fists, he charged forward and kicked the nearest gang member in the kneecap. "You and what army?"

It wasn't the snappiest repartee, but it had the desired effect. "Hey!" his injured target blurted angrily. His face flushed red. A c.o.c.ky smirk was instantly replaced by a look of genuine outrage. A metal chain rattled against his hip as he drew back his fist.

Jimmy gulped. Okay, powers, do your stuff. . . .

Tattooed knuckles flew at his face. Jimmy threw his head back, expecting his neck to elongate like before. Poised leg muscles waited eagerly for another burst of superhuman speed. Boy, were these antisocial bruisers in for a surprise when his astounding new abilities kicked in any minute now... !

Nothing happened-except that the punk's fist collided with his jaw.

The blow sent Jimmy reeling backward into an overflowing trash can. He crashed down onto the pavement amidst a heap of spilled garbage. Tasting blood in his mouth, he probed his front teeth with his tongue. Nothing was missing, thank goodness, but a couple incisors felt loose. A gong rang loudly inside his head. It took him a second to focus his blurry eyes.

And right about then, he thought to himself, Maybe I should've told Superman I was coming here, just in case.