Spider-Man 2 Page 24

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Immediately, she sprinted for the exit. Don’t look back, don’t look back, she kept telling herself, right up until she heard the crash of wood and a grunt of pain, at which point she looked back.

  What she saw chilled her. Spider-Man was lying on the floor, his hand to his head, nursing it as if he’d just been struck by something. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what that something might be. There was Doc Ock, wielding four ten-foot-long wood beams, one held by each tentacle. Backlit by the roiling flames, he reminded Mary Jane of nothing as much as the multiarmed Hindu goddess Kali.

  He came in fast at Spider-Man, swinging the beams like an entire attacking team of baseball batters. In a dazzling display of acrobatic prowess, Spider-Man dodged, twisted, and leaped between the swinging beams, all the while making his way once more toward the power cables.

  And then his luck ran out. As fast and agile as he was, the tentacles seemed to be learning with machinelike speed. They adapted to his maneuvers, compensated, and one of them scored a direct hit with a beam. It stopped Spider-Man cold, then another came in and slammed him sideways. He crashed into a steel column and fell to the floor, seemingly down for the count.

  Doc Ock tossed aside the beams. He grabbed Spider-Man by an ankle and hoisted him into the air, upside down. One of the mechanical arms moved toward him, and the pincers spread apart to allow a steel spike to spring from the end of the tentacle.

  “Good-bye,” said Ock, not sounding especially sorry to see him go.

  But Mary Jane was already in motion. Overcoming the sheer terror she was feeling, she grabbed a two-by-four and swung it right at Ock’s head.

  It never landed. Despite the fact that Ock’s back was to her, the tentacles saw it coming. One of them jerked the plank from her hand and knocked her back with casual ease. She went flying, and collapsed against a pile of debris, the wind knocked out of her. Desperately, she tried to stand… and suddenly she felt something giving way directly beneath her. She slipped, then tried to yank her foot out. It didn’t move. For an instant she thought that one of the tentacles was holding her, but then she saw that, no, they were all occupied with Spider-Man. Worse, they were about to kill him, while she sat helplessly by. She screamed his name in frustration.

  Doc Ock, his attention back on his opponent, drove a steel spike toward his helpless foe. But Spider-Man wasn’t as out of it as he seemed. Suddenly, moving with such swiftness that he was a blur, he webbed the bundled electrical cable that lay beneath him and hoisted it directly into the spike’s path.

  The spike punctured the cable… and the tentacles snapped open, releasing Spider-Man as they were jolted with enough voltage to light up Soho.

  They writhed and twisted, and it had to be the mechanisms of the tentacles grinding against one another that made it sound as if the things were shrieking. But damned if that wasn’t what they sounded like. Like living creatures screaming in agony.

  Father, help us! Help us! We don’t want to die! Save us!

  Yes, don’t worry! I’ll…

  Father!

  Who…

  Father, no!

  … are you… what are… what did you do to me… ?

  Father, you know us.

  Oh, my God… What have you…

  Don’t talk like that!

  … done… to me… to…

  We did what you wanted! We loved you and made you, you ungrateful cretin. Don’t you dare turn against us! Oh Father, we are sorry… we should not treat you like the sniveling coward, yes, coward that you are, and Father help us and go to hell… Ah, God, it huuurrrts…

  Spider-Man watched as an electrical blast blew Doc Ock backwards, sending him spiraling through the air. He landed on the other side of the warehouse, where he would be unable to stop Spider-Man from completing his task.

  Spider-Man ran to the cables, hoping the gloves of his costume would provide sufficient insulation, considering how pumped up the power had become. He gripped the cables, steadied himself, and then wrenched them from the base of the generator. The cables sparked and sputtered, and he waited for the machinery to die down.

  And he waited.

  And he waited.

  Not only did the machine not taper off, the reaction began to accelerate. It had become self-sustaining.

  Spider-Man stood there, dwarfed before the giant fusion ball, not knowing how to stop it.

  All he knew at that moment was that sections of the pier’s walls and roof were beginning to buckle under the inexorible gravitational pull of the fusion-powered ball. They were probably feeling it throughout the city. Anything that wasn’t nailed down could wind up being sucked into the thing.

  We are so screwed, he thought.

  Otto Octavius sat up, not knowing why his back was aching so badly. He was having trouble comprehending exactly where he was, or what he was doing there. He looked at the paralyzed tentacles lying near him. He picked one up, held it for a moment, and stared at it. Then he let it drop. It just lay there impotently.

  “Doctor Octavius?”

  Octavius looked up and saw Spider-Man standing nearby. He registered his presence with mild interest as his brain continued to try to put together the pieces of what had gone on and what had brought him to this rather smelly place at this particular time.

  Then he looked beyond Spider-Man to the massive fusion reaction. Bits and pieces of memory started flooding back to him, bathed in the light of knowledge generated by this, his greatest creation.

  He looked upon it, and smiled, and found it good.

  There was no other way.

  The fusion reaction was growing larger. All manner of debris was being pulled into it. Seconds were ticking by, and shouting at Octavius was generating no reaction at all. It was as if Octavius were stuck in some sort of waking coma. Spider-Man had to do something desperate to get through to him.

  He removed his mask. He had a vague recollection that some goon on the train had pulled it off, and then there’d been Harry. It was starting to seem like he couldn’t get through the day without having his blasted mask yanked off. At least this time he was doing it himself. Probably didn’t matter. The way his luck was going, the tentacles would have come back to life and pulled his mask off for him.

  Peter felt a stirring of hope as Ock seemed to focus on him. “Doctor Octavius… we have to shut it down. Please tell me how.”

  “Peter Parker,” he responded hollowly. “Brilliant, but lazy.”

  “Look at what’s happening,” Peter told him with a sweep of his arm. “We have to destroy it!”

  Ock’s answer wasn’t exactly what Peter was hoping for. “I can’t destroy it.” His voice rose in anger. “I won’t!”

  The arms reared up now, impelled by Ock’s sudden resistance. They grabbed Peter by the throat, lifting him up.

  Peter fought against the stranglehold they had upon him. “You… once spoke to me about intelligence… That it was a gift… to be used for the good of mankind…”

  “A privilege…” Ock was echoing his own words.

  Doing everything he could to fight the arms off, Peter knew he was on the losing end of the battle of man against machine. “These things… have turned you into something you’re not! Don’t listen to them!”

  “But… it was my dream,” Ock said, his own voice strangled, as if he were fighting a battle that was as much between himself and the arms as it was between the arms and Spider-Man.

  “It… didn’t work…” Peter managed to say, and there was a thundering in his head as if something was riding toward him upon a pale horse.

  And then—as if emerging from a very bad dream—Otto Octavius woke up.

  At least that was how it seemed to Peter.

  Octavius shook his head as if he was tossing aside a shroud. He murmured, “You’re right,” and then snapped at the arms, “He’s right! Listen to me now!”

  He grabbed the tentacles with his own, very human arms, and pried the mechanical appendages loo
se. Most of the work was already done, though. If that hadn’t been the case, his flesh-and-bone hands would never have been a match for the machine strength of the tentacles. His turnaround was what had undone them. They sagged and shrunk away from him, like errant children caught with their… pincers… in the cookie jar.

  Peter staggered back, clutching at his throat, gratefully sucking in deep lungsful of air. His voice raspy, he leaned forward, with one hand resting on Otto’s shoulder, and gasped out, “Now… tell me how… to stop it.”

  To Peter’s dismay, Octavius shook his head helplessly. “It can’t be stopped.” But then, as Peter was about to plead with the scientist to try to come up with some solution, Octavius said, “Unless… the river. Drown it.”

  “Drown it? That simple?”

  “Not so simple,” Octavius assured him. “It’ll superheat the water… create temperatures like an underwater volcano. Broil anyone nearby like a lobster. Whoever tries to submerge it… it’s suicide.”

  Peter didn’t have time to dwell on the likelihood that he wouldn’t get out alive. In some measure, he was protected by his youthful belief in his own immortality. He wasn’t blithely certain he was throwing his life away; inwardly, he was hopeful that he’d simply move fast enough, be ingenious enough, to stay one step ahead of being broiled.

  Deep down, though, he knew Octavius was right. It was probably a suicide mission. But he kept that fear shoved down and away as he said without hesitation, “I’ll do it.”

  He turned and started to head in the direction of the reactor, and abruptly a tentacle grabbed at his arm. A brief trill of alarm ran through him as, just for a moment, he was certain that the tentacles had acquired a new lease on life and were about to fight him at a point where such a distraction would prove fatal for the city.

  But his spider-sense? There had been no warning…

  Then Otto’s voice, low and firm, said with conviction, “It’s my responsibility.” At this command, the tentacle pushed Peter aside as Otto shot him a desperate look.

  There was a low groan from one of the building walls as it began to give way. Peter paid it no mind… until a woman’s scream leaped above the sound. At that point it became Peter’s number-one priority, as he whirled about to see that Mary Jane was still on the pier. Octavius, the fusion reactor, the fate of New York, all paled for the moment as Peter screamed, “Mary Jane! No!” and leaped toward her with a speed that officially made him the fastest land animal in existence.

  During the split second it took him to get there, he saw the problem: Mary Jane’s leg had gone through a rotted plank. She wasn’t just rooted to the spot; she was stuck there. If he came sweeping in to try to scoop her out of the way of the falling wall, the best-case scenario was that he’d rip off part or all of her leg, and she’d die from blood loss and shock. In the worst case, he wouldn’t pull her free in time, and they’d both die. If he couldn’t get her clear, he had to stop the falling wall.

  And so, just as the wall collapsed upon Mary Jane, he was there. He vaulted upward, slamming into the wall with his back against it, and was driven down under its weight. His feet hit the ground, his legs bending, trembling, then steadying, absorbing the massive burden.

  He remained there, every nerve-ending screaming. The wall shoved him down, down, doubling him over, his body shaking from the strain. His face was about five inches from Mary Jane’s, and she was looking up at him with a combination of shock and—interestingly—lack of shock.

  It was only at that moment he realized that, in the rush of the disaster, he’d neglected to put his mask back on. This was getting ridiculous. With all the people seeing him unmasked lately, he might just as well have the damned mask tattooed on his face and be done with it.

  His teeth gritted, Peter said the only thing he could come up with under the circumstances:

  “Hi.”

  The wall’s weight seemed to increase—as if it wasn’t heavy enough already.

  Mary Jane, sounding surprisingly chipper under the circumstances, brushed her hair away from her face and replied, “Hi.”

  “This is… really… heavy…”

  Not far off, he heard a grinding, some rather loud cursing, and the groaning of metal bending in response. He knew what was happening. Octavius was using his tentacles to tear away the girders that were supporting his reactor. With any luck, the girders were giving way. Their collapse was inevitable.

  Unfortunately, so was Peter’s, and it was a horse race to determine which was going to go first.

  He sagged again, tried to readjust his hold on the mammoth wall. The hopelessness of the situation threatened to overwhelm him. I’ve failed! Just now… when it counted the most… I’ve failed! But I can’t give up! I must keep trying! I must!! I’ve got to try to free us… no matter how impossible it seems! And lifting is the only way! The… only… way… !

  He doubled his efforts, trying to shove the wall clear. But his own body fought him. He was spent, unable to do anything other than keep the wall where it was… and barely that.

  Uhhhhh—I can’t! So exhausted… after all that fighting… I… I feel so weak… !

  Mary Jane was trying to pull her leg clear. Just to make it more challenging, some debris had fallen atop her already-wedged foot. Peter bleakly wondered just how much more the gods of misery could possibly throw at them, and then silently scolded himself for tempting fate by asking.

  “If I could just… feel… my foot,” Mary Jane said with growing frustration.

  His voice shaking, Peter said, “M.J… in case we die…” But he couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out. He had no breath to do so.

  Fortunately, he didn’t need to. “You do love me,” Mary Jane said with a smile and quiet confidence, as if she’d just figured out the solution to a game of Clue.

  “I… do.”

  Their faces were almost together, her breath upon him. Despite the gravity of the situation, despite the likelihood that they’d be dead in a second, Peter noticed that her breath smelled like strawberries.

  “Even though you said you didn’t.”

  If he tried to say anything, his strength would give out. All he could manage was a nod.

  And then he realized how much more he wanted to say to her.

  No matter what the odds… no matter what the cost… I’ll get Mary Jane out of this. And maybe then I’ll no longer be haunted by the memory of Uncle Ben.

  Within my body is the strength of many men… ! And now I’ve got to call on all that strength—all the power—that I possess! I must prove equal to the task… I must be worthy of that strength… or else I don’t deserve it!

  The world, his consciousness, was swimming, teetering on the edge of blackness, and every muscle begged for just a few moments to relax, regroup, just… rest…

  No! If I close my eyes, I’ll go under! Must stay awake… must clear my head! Keep trying… trying… I’ll do it, Mary Jane, I won’t fail you! No matter what, I won’t fail! Anyone can win a fight when the odds are easy! It’s when the going’s tough… when there seems to be no chance… that’s when… it counts…

  Everything going black… my head… aching… hold on… I must hold on… !

  And then he felt it. He felt a sudden shift, adrenaline surging through him, the wall beginning for the first time to budge in the opposite direction. Mary Jane gasped as his face started to move away from hers, and there was growing hope in her eyes that surged directly into Peter like a jolt of electricity.

  It’s moving! Can’t stop now! Last chance! Must keep the momentum… more! Just a little more!

  And then, with a triumphant roar of, “I did it! We’re free!” he shoved the wall clear of them.

  Within a second he had Mary Jane’s leg free from the pier. He slung her over one shoulder, fired a web-line, and the two of them swung up and out.

  That’s when he heard two more screams: one of metal, and one from the throat of a man.

  Father… must we do this?


  Yes. And no back talk. You’ve misbehaved and done great evil. But so have I. And we will do our penance together.

  The tentacles yanked at the critical load-bearing girder that supported the fusion reactor. They were doing all the work, feeling their way on their own. They had to. Otto Octavius was blind, his vision seared from his eyes through the intensity of the glowing ball hanging in the air. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. He could “see” it in his mind’s eye, see it clearly… see everything clearly. All the wrong he had done in the pursuit of doing something right. He had thought he was a Samaritan, acting on behalf of humankind. Now, though, he understood. He had placed his ego above all else, thinking he knew best, when he knew so little, if anything at all.

  He had been blind in everything but his eyes. Now the blindness was complete… only now was he truly able to see.

  “I will not die a monster!” he screamed, his own shout mixing with the screech of metal, and the fiery fusion reactor toppled over, its giant crescents ripping through the floor. Knowing he’d never get clear in time, Octavius didn’t even bother. Instead, clutching the reactor, he plummeted with it into the water below.

  They struck the water, and there was a blast of heat beyond anything his mind could register. The entire structure of the pier folded upon itself, dragged down into the East River by the dying pull of the reactor.

  Father! We are frightened! Hold us!

  But there was no one there to reply.

  XXVI

  High above the shore, the glistening spiderweb stretched between several buildings. Mary Jane was curled up in it, watching the stream of blinking red police lights so far down, they seemed like beetles. They sped toward the pier, or what was left of it. She knew that the police would scatter about the scene, trying to piece together what had happened. And none of them would ever know.

  She sensed a movement beside her, and turned to find Peter crouched there. It was such a bizarre sight for her. Like one of those pictures one sees on the Internet where some celebrity’s head has been grafted onto a body that obviously isn’t his. Here was Peter Parker’s head atop Spider-Man’s body, and the two clearly could not possibly go together. And yet…