FIC: "JLA: Necessary Force" (Part 14: "Sticking Place" - 2nd Half 2)
Last part of the chapter "Sticking Place". (Part 14 - third post of the part.) *whew* Enjoy!
Title: JLA: Necessary Force - Part 14: "Sticking Place" (2nd half - part 2)
Author: Paxwolf
Fandom: JLA/Justice League
Rating: PG-13 (R in parts)
Warnings: Mature Situations, Language, Violence
Disclaimer: The JLA and its characters are owned by DC Comics and their parent company. Mine are owned by me. ;-)
Summary: When a powerful terrorist threatens the safety of the planet, the Justice League must go to extremes to stop him, and Superman and Batman may have to make the biggest sacrifice of all.
Summary of This Part: Superman's powers are waning yet further, and as he struggles to escape from Ayestrom's stronghold, he must fend off new obstacles and just maybe makes some new allies.
JLA
“Necessary Force”
By Paxwolf
NOTE: Please see the warnings, acknowledgements, and disclaimers back in the First Part of this story, "In Terrorem". Thank you.
Part XIV:
“Sticking Place”
(C)
To his relief, no mercenaries, soldiers, or guards had joined them, and the spectators began to slowly shuffle off to their tasks as it was clear that the excitement was over. Not one of them stopped to question him. Neither did any of the adults come forward to claim the children.
Superman recovered his breath, and lowered his stick to the floor again. He turned to the two children, feeling a new ache in his chest, and tried to dispel the ringing in his ears. He focussed on assessing his two rescuees, who stared right back at him with expressions similar to what they’d worn before. Superman sighed.
“Êtes-vous bien?” he asked in a gentle tone. He hoped they were all right.
They looked at each other and then at him, and their faces slowly changed. But they spoke not a word.
Sighing, he lowered himself to one knee to look them in the eye. He saw them look at his decrepit appearance, especially his white, blinded eye, rather fearfully. Now his disguise was working against him after all.
“N’avez-pas peur, mes amis,” he said softly. Don’t be afraid. “I will not hurt you.”
“How … how did you do that?” the boy stuttered. He looked back at the path the two hoods had disappeared down. “No one fights back against … les phantômes.”
Superman raised his brows.
“Well, physical violence is not the best solution, I have to admit,” he said ruefully, rubbing at his neck and head, “but maybe if more of your - ah, our - people stood up to the likes of them, these ‘ghosts’ wouldn’t have the courage to steal from us.”
The boy and girl blinked at him. Then the boy nodded slowly.
“Est-ce que vous faites mal?” he asked in actual concern, as Superman laid an arm across his burning ribcage.
Superman tried to shrug casually. “Un peu. J’ai de la douleur dans les cotes, et j’ai des vertiges,” he said. If only it were just my ribs and a bout of dizziness I’m feeling!
The little girl stepped up to him shyly and put her small hand on top of his large one as it rested on his bruised thigh. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” she said earnestly. “Merci.”
Superman smiled. “De rien,” he answered, and cupped her chin tenderly with his other hand. It was nothing.
“Je m’appelle Philippe,” the boy said, and indicated the girl. “Et cette est ma soeur, Monique.”
“How do you do,” Superman replied, in polite French. “Et moi, je m’appelle Cl - Gunter,” he said, catching himself just in time. He was much too tired to be playing his charade to the hilt now, he realized. But the children didn’t seem to notice his slip. Both the boy and his sister shook his hand, shyly, but firmly. “So,” he smiled again, hoping for the first time that his visage didn’t appear too fearsome with its scars and lines. “Will you do me the honour of helping me now?”
“Oh, oui,” the boy, Philippe, answered straightaway. “We’d be glad to, monsieur. But what can we possibly do?”
Superman, with an enormous - and surprisingly good - feeling of relief, began to tell them his manufactured predicament. He explained about his fictitious missing eyeglasses, and how he couldn’t read the signs that were posted in the makeshift corridors, and how he couldn’t find his way among the tunnels back to his own sleeping area.
I hate lying to them like this, he inwardly winced. But what choice do I have? Perhaps one day soon I can share with them the truth. Once the League has kicked Ayestrom’s ass halfway across the planet, that is.
He grinned a little at the thought. He looked back down at the kids, hoping against hope that they believed his lies, and were not just playing with him, stringing him along until they had a chance to point out the weird stranger to some nearby trusted adult figure. To their credit, the children stayed absolutely still and listened to his fabrication with seeming politeness.
“Oui, we’ll be happy to show you the way, monsieur Gunter,” Philippe said, once he had finished.
“We know all this level,” Monique added proudly. “We’ve explored it in lots of games.”
“That’s great,” Superman said, trying unsuccessfully to quell the rising sense of hope in him.
“Mais … nous ne prendons pas vous. Not to any other level,” Philippe said sadly. “We can’t take you. We’re not permitted to go into the stairwells or lifts.”
“C’est amende,” Superman hastened to reassure. “I don’t think I’m allowed to go up there either.” He would have to find his own way back up again once he was past this level. And regardless, there was no way he would choose to further endanger these children. No matter what help they might offer him.
“Allons-y, maintenant?” asked Monique, tugging at his hand.
He rose, and smiled down at her. “Lead on, brave champion,” he said.
She giggled and then began to lead him out of the laundry-infested warren, Philippe bringing up the rear.
The three of them moved out into the labyrinth of corridors and connecting chambers again, heading to the main tunnelway. The children chatted about various games they enjoyed playing, but clammed up when Superman inquired about their parents. He frowned and let it go, and concentrated instead on asking questions about the activity and work being carried on around them, careful to phrase them as if he knew what was going on himself. He could not afford to arouse any more suspicion. He had earned their trust by saving them from the ‘ghosts’ that preyed on weaker residents of the base, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize that.
Unfortunately, the two children knew very little about the work the adults around them performed.
“And how did you two end up here?” he finally asked.
They looked up at him strangely.
“What do you mean?” Philippe asked, puzzled.
“Well, where did you live before you came here? Where did you go to school?”
Monique wrinkled her forehead. “Qu’est-ce l’école?”
“We’ve always been here,” Philippe shrugged. “Haven’t you, monsieur?”
Superman frowned to himself, but only nodded at the boy’s question. “I suppose I have.” He saw Philippe looking at him curiously again and bit out a little chuckle. “Ignore the ramblings of an old man. I get confused at times.”
Superman’s stomach chose that moment to growl, and he looked a little sheepishly at the children.
“As-tu faim?” Monique asked, smiling shyly up at him.
“Starving,” Superman confessed, “And a bit thirsty too. Savez-vous où je trouve d’eau?”
“We can find you some water,” Philippe nodded, “and if you have your food chit, des nourriture manger, aussi.”
“That would be most welcome,” Superman answered with a small smile, knowing he needed to eat sometime, deciding not to worry about the problem of meal cards just then. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.
He hesitated a moment, and then decided to ask. The risk was worth it.
“I heard a strange rumour the other day. Have ... either of you seen any … American children here?” he asked carefully.
They looked up at him puzzled. “Les enfants Americain?”
He nodded, watching them closely. “Or anyone not being able to walk freely about? Maybe even kept in … cages or locked up somewhere?”
They began to frown. He waited, anxiety beginning to worm back in as he watched the confusion fill their faces.
“Everyone down here belongs,” Philippe said at last. “You know that, Monsieur.”
“Of course,” he murmured, frowning a little himself.
What did that mean? Have they seen the hostages, and then not remembered them?
It seemed to have disturbed them when he asked, and he knew he had better not push it.
The children led him into the main corridor, resuming their chattering away on child-level topics. He allowed himself to get caught up in their cheer and simplicity, relieved to see how he was looked upon with greater acceptance by the passing people. For the first time in far too long, Superman began to feel in better spirits. He had been able to establish a connection of sorts, and having allies of any sort down here was a source of great encouragement. His sense of hope and confidence began to marginally rise again.
He should have known it was too good to last.
Only an instant later, that good feeling was shattered.
The air around them was suddenly filled with a shrieking, piercingly loud claxon, resounding and echoing throughout the entire cave system so that it was impossible to tell from what direction it emanated.
Superman immediately froze, heart pounding painfully in his chest. Screams of startled alarm sounded from the people all around them before cutting off as if they had recalled such expressions of fright were not permitted. Superman whirled around, half-expecting to see a cadre of soldiers behind him with weapons trained fully on him, but only a crowd of milling inhabitants began to fill the cramped spaces in response to the ringing alarm.
Is this about my escape at last? He wondered immediately, casting a swift glance around. There was nowhere to run. Did the guard I leave unconscious finally wake up and report my absence from the detention area?
Or had the disabled meta-ability scanners and sensors finally been discovered? Or the mystery behind the broken elevator doors a few levels above finally been pieced together? Or had the two thugs run after all and complained about him to an overseer?
Whatever the cause, it had only been a matter of a very short time before a base-wide alarm would be issued. All along he knew he had only been on borrowed time. And it appeared that time was now up. Any second now, the guards, maybe even the meta-powered commanders themselves, would be dispatched to round him up.
“Écoutez,” he said to the children hurriedly as he scanned the area. “Listen. You must get far away from me. I don’t want you hurt when …”
“Quoi?”
He looked down and saw to his surprise that his guides didn’t seem too alarmed by the blaring claxon, but were brushing by him, heading down the corridor back the way he had originally come. Groups of residents were emerging from the makeshift shelters all around them, and heading uniformly in the same direction.
“Attends,” he said, reaching out a gnarled hand for Philippe’s shoulder. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?" What is it?
Again he received a strange look for his question, but at least there was no fear in it this time.
“C’est l’alarm ordinaire,” he answered with a matter of fact shrug. “Nous allons.”
“Venez, monsieur Gunter!” Monique called, grasping Superman’s other hand and tugging at him. “Nous ne pouvons pas en retard.”
We mustn’t be late for what? He thought, confused now, and he momentarily allowed himself to be propelled forward, thinking furiously that in this chaos of people there might be a better chance that an exit might be left less guarded.
“Come on, monsieur!” the boy said urgently. “You don’t want to get in trouble, do you?’
“Uh, no, not particularly,” he replied in all honesty, still searching with telescopic vision for an unguarded hatchway.
“The lord Übermensch will be very angry with us if we’re late,” Monique told him solemnly. “It’s important, Maman says, that we follow all his commands.”
So this Übermensch is Ayestrom, Superman realized, with a distinct feeling of unease. Interesting moniker he’s chosen.
“Votre mère? You do have parents here then,” he said aloud.
“Oui, oui. They’re up ahead,” Philippe nodded, but an odd look was on his face.
“Do you mean we have to attend some sort of gathering?” Superman asked, his tired brain finally clicking in, as the crowd of people more closely filled the tunnel. Little alarm bells of his own were striking chords in his head.
“Bien sûr, monsieur, toute le monde vont,” the boy said impatiently. “Everyone. Don’t you know?”
Superman came instantly to a halt, dragging his guides to a stop.
Tout le monde. Everyone.
The two children pulled harder at his arms.
“Allons-y!”
“I’m sorry,” he said thickly. “But I must first go … find someone. It’s important. I’ll … I’ll join you down there.”
“Mais, monsieur Gunter …”
He swiftly spun about and started to hobble in the opposite direction against the flow of the increasingly large moving crowd.
“Please, monsieur!” He heard the girl cry from behind him. “Attendez! Ne me quittez pas!”
I'm sorry, Monique. I hate to leave you. I hope you’ll be all right, he thought, frantically searching for a way through. I have to trust that you will. But I can’t stay here. I can't.
He plunged a bit faster through the river of people, not daring to stay near the two children now drawing attention to themselves and him shouting after him. Feeling like he was swimming upstream against a strong current and getting nowhere fast, he fought the urge to simply force his way through the dense crowd by virtue of sheer strength.
He clenched his jaw at the awareness that he too was now drawing unwanted attention to himself by so blatantly moving in the direction opposite to everyone else, but there was no help for it. He could not risk being trapped in a room that would contain Ayestrom himself, and who knew what powers of detection would be in effect, intrinsic or otherwise.
Of course, he thought dryly, as he spotted the advancing sentries flanking the moving mob like shepherds herding a wayward flock, such good intentions have often paved the way to … well, less than ideal circumstances.
He twisted around in increasing desperation, looking for any way to escape the growing press of the crowd and their herding mercenary shepherds.
And then he realized, all at once, that he could not see a single, visible, viable way out.
Uh oh.
He felt a painful wrenching in his stomach as he realized there was simply no way for him to get out. He wasn’t going to make it.
He couldn’t get out.
There has to be a way! There has to!
His throat suddenly dried further as he saw that the soldiers bordering the mob had finally noticed him as he fought against the tide, the lone dissident moving in non-conformity against the flock of sheep.
Two of them met his glance, fearsome as wolves now, and not like shepherds at all. They abruptly started to plow through the mob, moving in on him, weapons cocked and beginning to shrill as they were primed.
Damnit.
He was lost.
“Alt! Si va sempre diritto!”
The command to stop and go straight ahead with the others was punctuated by a flare of energy from the muzzles of the guard’s weapons.
The sentries pressed closer, pinning him with their stares, meta-powered rifles whining in anticipation.
Damn it all. I’m not going to …
With keen frustration and no small sense of despair, Superman let out a breath and resignedly turned back, allowing himself to be jostled along with the flow, blending invisibly into the gray, morose mob of denizens. Soon the guards who had taken notice of him were well behind, lost to view, but Superman felt no safer.
Safe.
No, safe was hardly a word fit for this situation he now found himself in, as he was pushed and dragged inevitably closer to the last place, and towards the last person, he had intended on encountering in his little excursion into the enemy’s lair.
He knew he would be lucky indeed to make it through the next hour undiscovered and unscathed. To be safe was probably asking for too much. But to bring these people - all of them - to safety, well, that he would keep hoping for. He would have to trust to that luck to see him through once again. For the sake of the hostages, and everyone else, he would have to.
He just hoped his luck would hold out.
---
To Be Continued! (Part 15 starts Here, in fact. And ... I had to post the first part of this chapter twice, so if you'd like to see the original post, with some of the original comments by readers, please see it Here! :-) Thank you!)
All Previous Parts can be found at the Main Page :-)
Title: JLA: Necessary Force - Part 14: "Sticking Place" (2nd half - part 2)
Author: Paxwolf
Fandom: JLA/Justice League
Rating: PG-13 (R in parts)
Warnings: Mature Situations, Language, Violence
Disclaimer: The JLA and its characters are owned by DC Comics and their parent company. Mine are owned by me. ;-)
Summary: When a powerful terrorist threatens the safety of the planet, the Justice League must go to extremes to stop him, and Superman and Batman may have to make the biggest sacrifice of all.
Summary of This Part: Superman's powers are waning yet further, and as he struggles to escape from Ayestrom's stronghold, he must fend off new obstacles and just maybe makes some new allies.
JLA
“Necessary Force”
By Paxwolf
NOTE: Please see the warnings, acknowledgements, and disclaimers back in the First Part of this story, "In Terrorem". Thank you.
Part XIV:
“Sticking Place”
(C)
To his relief, no mercenaries, soldiers, or guards had joined them, and the spectators began to slowly shuffle off to their tasks as it was clear that the excitement was over. Not one of them stopped to question him. Neither did any of the adults come forward to claim the children.
Superman recovered his breath, and lowered his stick to the floor again. He turned to the two children, feeling a new ache in his chest, and tried to dispel the ringing in his ears. He focussed on assessing his two rescuees, who stared right back at him with expressions similar to what they’d worn before. Superman sighed.
“Êtes-vous bien?” he asked in a gentle tone. He hoped they were all right.
They looked at each other and then at him, and their faces slowly changed. But they spoke not a word.
Sighing, he lowered himself to one knee to look them in the eye. He saw them look at his decrepit appearance, especially his white, blinded eye, rather fearfully. Now his disguise was working against him after all.
“N’avez-pas peur, mes amis,” he said softly. Don’t be afraid. “I will not hurt you.”
“How … how did you do that?” the boy stuttered. He looked back at the path the two hoods had disappeared down. “No one fights back against … les phantômes.”
Superman raised his brows.
“Well, physical violence is not the best solution, I have to admit,” he said ruefully, rubbing at his neck and head, “but maybe if more of your - ah, our - people stood up to the likes of them, these ‘ghosts’ wouldn’t have the courage to steal from us.”
The boy and girl blinked at him. Then the boy nodded slowly.
“Est-ce que vous faites mal?” he asked in actual concern, as Superman laid an arm across his burning ribcage.
Superman tried to shrug casually. “Un peu. J’ai de la douleur dans les cotes, et j’ai des vertiges,” he said. If only it were just my ribs and a bout of dizziness I’m feeling!
The little girl stepped up to him shyly and put her small hand on top of his large one as it rested on his bruised thigh. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” she said earnestly. “Merci.”
Superman smiled. “De rien,” he answered, and cupped her chin tenderly with his other hand. It was nothing.
“Je m’appelle Philippe,” the boy said, and indicated the girl. “Et cette est ma soeur, Monique.”
“How do you do,” Superman replied, in polite French. “Et moi, je m’appelle Cl - Gunter,” he said, catching himself just in time. He was much too tired to be playing his charade to the hilt now, he realized. But the children didn’t seem to notice his slip. Both the boy and his sister shook his hand, shyly, but firmly. “So,” he smiled again, hoping for the first time that his visage didn’t appear too fearsome with its scars and lines. “Will you do me the honour of helping me now?”
“Oh, oui,” the boy, Philippe, answered straightaway. “We’d be glad to, monsieur. But what can we possibly do?”
Superman, with an enormous - and surprisingly good - feeling of relief, began to tell them his manufactured predicament. He explained about his fictitious missing eyeglasses, and how he couldn’t read the signs that were posted in the makeshift corridors, and how he couldn’t find his way among the tunnels back to his own sleeping area.
I hate lying to them like this, he inwardly winced. But what choice do I have? Perhaps one day soon I can share with them the truth. Once the League has kicked Ayestrom’s ass halfway across the planet, that is.
He grinned a little at the thought. He looked back down at the kids, hoping against hope that they believed his lies, and were not just playing with him, stringing him along until they had a chance to point out the weird stranger to some nearby trusted adult figure. To their credit, the children stayed absolutely still and listened to his fabrication with seeming politeness.
“Oui, we’ll be happy to show you the way, monsieur Gunter,” Philippe said, once he had finished.
“We know all this level,” Monique added proudly. “We’ve explored it in lots of games.”
“That’s great,” Superman said, trying unsuccessfully to quell the rising sense of hope in him.
“Mais … nous ne prendons pas vous. Not to any other level,” Philippe said sadly. “We can’t take you. We’re not permitted to go into the stairwells or lifts.”
“C’est amende,” Superman hastened to reassure. “I don’t think I’m allowed to go up there either.” He would have to find his own way back up again once he was past this level. And regardless, there was no way he would choose to further endanger these children. No matter what help they might offer him.
“Allons-y, maintenant?” asked Monique, tugging at his hand.
He rose, and smiled down at her. “Lead on, brave champion,” he said.
She giggled and then began to lead him out of the laundry-infested warren, Philippe bringing up the rear.
The three of them moved out into the labyrinth of corridors and connecting chambers again, heading to the main tunnelway. The children chatted about various games they enjoyed playing, but clammed up when Superman inquired about their parents. He frowned and let it go, and concentrated instead on asking questions about the activity and work being carried on around them, careful to phrase them as if he knew what was going on himself. He could not afford to arouse any more suspicion. He had earned their trust by saving them from the ‘ghosts’ that preyed on weaker residents of the base, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize that.
Unfortunately, the two children knew very little about the work the adults around them performed.
“And how did you two end up here?” he finally asked.
They looked up at him strangely.
“What do you mean?” Philippe asked, puzzled.
“Well, where did you live before you came here? Where did you go to school?”
Monique wrinkled her forehead. “Qu’est-ce l’école?”
“We’ve always been here,” Philippe shrugged. “Haven’t you, monsieur?”
Superman frowned to himself, but only nodded at the boy’s question. “I suppose I have.” He saw Philippe looking at him curiously again and bit out a little chuckle. “Ignore the ramblings of an old man. I get confused at times.”
Superman’s stomach chose that moment to growl, and he looked a little sheepishly at the children.
“As-tu faim?” Monique asked, smiling shyly up at him.
“Starving,” Superman confessed, “And a bit thirsty too. Savez-vous où je trouve d’eau?”
“We can find you some water,” Philippe nodded, “and if you have your food chit, des nourriture manger, aussi.”
“That would be most welcome,” Superman answered with a small smile, knowing he needed to eat sometime, deciding not to worry about the problem of meal cards just then. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.
He hesitated a moment, and then decided to ask. The risk was worth it.
“I heard a strange rumour the other day. Have ... either of you seen any … American children here?” he asked carefully.
They looked up at him puzzled. “Les enfants Americain?”
He nodded, watching them closely. “Or anyone not being able to walk freely about? Maybe even kept in … cages or locked up somewhere?”
They began to frown. He waited, anxiety beginning to worm back in as he watched the confusion fill their faces.
“Everyone down here belongs,” Philippe said at last. “You know that, Monsieur.”
“Of course,” he murmured, frowning a little himself.
What did that mean? Have they seen the hostages, and then not remembered them?
It seemed to have disturbed them when he asked, and he knew he had better not push it.
The children led him into the main corridor, resuming their chattering away on child-level topics. He allowed himself to get caught up in their cheer and simplicity, relieved to see how he was looked upon with greater acceptance by the passing people. For the first time in far too long, Superman began to feel in better spirits. He had been able to establish a connection of sorts, and having allies of any sort down here was a source of great encouragement. His sense of hope and confidence began to marginally rise again.
He should have known it was too good to last.
Only an instant later, that good feeling was shattered.
The air around them was suddenly filled with a shrieking, piercingly loud claxon, resounding and echoing throughout the entire cave system so that it was impossible to tell from what direction it emanated.
Superman immediately froze, heart pounding painfully in his chest. Screams of startled alarm sounded from the people all around them before cutting off as if they had recalled such expressions of fright were not permitted. Superman whirled around, half-expecting to see a cadre of soldiers behind him with weapons trained fully on him, but only a crowd of milling inhabitants began to fill the cramped spaces in response to the ringing alarm.
Is this about my escape at last? He wondered immediately, casting a swift glance around. There was nowhere to run. Did the guard I leave unconscious finally wake up and report my absence from the detention area?
Or had the disabled meta-ability scanners and sensors finally been discovered? Or the mystery behind the broken elevator doors a few levels above finally been pieced together? Or had the two thugs run after all and complained about him to an overseer?
Whatever the cause, it had only been a matter of a very short time before a base-wide alarm would be issued. All along he knew he had only been on borrowed time. And it appeared that time was now up. Any second now, the guards, maybe even the meta-powered commanders themselves, would be dispatched to round him up.
“Écoutez,” he said to the children hurriedly as he scanned the area. “Listen. You must get far away from me. I don’t want you hurt when …”
“Quoi?”
He looked down and saw to his surprise that his guides didn’t seem too alarmed by the blaring claxon, but were brushing by him, heading down the corridor back the way he had originally come. Groups of residents were emerging from the makeshift shelters all around them, and heading uniformly in the same direction.
“Attends,” he said, reaching out a gnarled hand for Philippe’s shoulder. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?" What is it?
Again he received a strange look for his question, but at least there was no fear in it this time.
“C’est l’alarm ordinaire,” he answered with a matter of fact shrug. “Nous allons.”
“Venez, monsieur Gunter!” Monique called, grasping Superman’s other hand and tugging at him. “Nous ne pouvons pas en retard.”
We mustn’t be late for what? He thought, confused now, and he momentarily allowed himself to be propelled forward, thinking furiously that in this chaos of people there might be a better chance that an exit might be left less guarded.
“Come on, monsieur!” the boy said urgently. “You don’t want to get in trouble, do you?’
“Uh, no, not particularly,” he replied in all honesty, still searching with telescopic vision for an unguarded hatchway.
“The lord Übermensch will be very angry with us if we’re late,” Monique told him solemnly. “It’s important, Maman says, that we follow all his commands.”
So this Übermensch is Ayestrom, Superman realized, with a distinct feeling of unease. Interesting moniker he’s chosen.
“Votre mère? You do have parents here then,” he said aloud.
“Oui, oui. They’re up ahead,” Philippe nodded, but an odd look was on his face.
“Do you mean we have to attend some sort of gathering?” Superman asked, his tired brain finally clicking in, as the crowd of people more closely filled the tunnel. Little alarm bells of his own were striking chords in his head.
“Bien sûr, monsieur, toute le monde vont,” the boy said impatiently. “Everyone. Don’t you know?”
Superman came instantly to a halt, dragging his guides to a stop.
Tout le monde. Everyone.
The two children pulled harder at his arms.
“Allons-y!”
“I’m sorry,” he said thickly. “But I must first go … find someone. It’s important. I’ll … I’ll join you down there.”
“Mais, monsieur Gunter …”
He swiftly spun about and started to hobble in the opposite direction against the flow of the increasingly large moving crowd.
“Please, monsieur!” He heard the girl cry from behind him. “Attendez! Ne me quittez pas!”
I'm sorry, Monique. I hate to leave you. I hope you’ll be all right, he thought, frantically searching for a way through. I have to trust that you will. But I can’t stay here. I can't.
He plunged a bit faster through the river of people, not daring to stay near the two children now drawing attention to themselves and him shouting after him. Feeling like he was swimming upstream against a strong current and getting nowhere fast, he fought the urge to simply force his way through the dense crowd by virtue of sheer strength.
He clenched his jaw at the awareness that he too was now drawing unwanted attention to himself by so blatantly moving in the direction opposite to everyone else, but there was no help for it. He could not risk being trapped in a room that would contain Ayestrom himself, and who knew what powers of detection would be in effect, intrinsic or otherwise.
Of course, he thought dryly, as he spotted the advancing sentries flanking the moving mob like shepherds herding a wayward flock, such good intentions have often paved the way to … well, less than ideal circumstances.
He twisted around in increasing desperation, looking for any way to escape the growing press of the crowd and their herding mercenary shepherds.
And then he realized, all at once, that he could not see a single, visible, viable way out.
Uh oh.
He felt a painful wrenching in his stomach as he realized there was simply no way for him to get out. He wasn’t going to make it.
He couldn’t get out.
There has to be a way! There has to!
His throat suddenly dried further as he saw that the soldiers bordering the mob had finally noticed him as he fought against the tide, the lone dissident moving in non-conformity against the flock of sheep.
Two of them met his glance, fearsome as wolves now, and not like shepherds at all. They abruptly started to plow through the mob, moving in on him, weapons cocked and beginning to shrill as they were primed.
Damnit.
He was lost.
“Alt! Si va sempre diritto!”
The command to stop and go straight ahead with the others was punctuated by a flare of energy from the muzzles of the guard’s weapons.
The sentries pressed closer, pinning him with their stares, meta-powered rifles whining in anticipation.
Damn it all. I’m not going to …
With keen frustration and no small sense of despair, Superman let out a breath and resignedly turned back, allowing himself to be jostled along with the flow, blending invisibly into the gray, morose mob of denizens. Soon the guards who had taken notice of him were well behind, lost to view, but Superman felt no safer.
Safe.
No, safe was hardly a word fit for this situation he now found himself in, as he was pushed and dragged inevitably closer to the last place, and towards the last person, he had intended on encountering in his little excursion into the enemy’s lair.
He knew he would be lucky indeed to make it through the next hour undiscovered and unscathed. To be safe was probably asking for too much. But to bring these people - all of them - to safety, well, that he would keep hoping for. He would have to trust to that luck to see him through once again. For the sake of the hostages, and everyone else, he would have to.
He just hoped his luck would hold out.
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To Be Continued! (Part 15 starts Here, in fact. And ... I had to post the first part of this chapter twice, so if you'd like to see the original post, with some of the original comments by readers, please see it Here! :-) Thank you!)
All Previous Parts can be found at the Main Page :-)