Shadows Fall

  The scarecrow turned and walked steadily towards the Council meeting house, leaving a trail of burning footsteps behind him. Flames licked around him like a living cloak. The Lieutenant pushed up the window and opened fire, but the scarecrow barely shuddered under the bullets’ impact. The Lieutenant ordered his men to open fire too, and two soldiers moved in beside him with their automatic weapons and added their fire to his. Jack Fetch advanced through the hail of bullets like a man breasting a not particularly heavy tide. Even through the flames, the Warriors could see his turnip head was still smiling.

  Jack walked up the steps, pushed open the front door and strode down the hall towards the Council meeting room. Warriors filled the hall before him, firing wildly and backing away as he advanced unhurriedly towards them. And then silence fell across the scene, as one by one the soldiers ran out of ammunition, or their guns overheated, and in a matter of moments all that could be heard in the hall was the quiet crackling of the flames licking around the scarecrow’s body, and the brief rasp of his twiggy feet on the floor. The Warriors backed away into the Council meeting room, and Jack Fetch went in after them. The Lieutenant grabbed Marley, pulled him close and put his gun to the Councillor’s head.

  “I still have some ammunition left. Get out of here, demon. Get out or I’ll kill him.”

  Jack nodded his turnip head once, and disappeared. One moment he was there, standing in the doorway wreathed in crackling flames, and then the doorway was empty and the room was completely silent. The Lieutenant gaped, frozen in place for a moment, and Jack Fetch reappeared behind him. The Lieutenant just had time to feel the sudden burst of heat, and then the scarecrow embraced him in his burning arms. The Lieutenant screamed for help, and his men bolted, fighting each other in their need to get out of the room. The scarecrow hugged the Lieutenant to him, and the man’s back and neck broke in a series of quiet pops. Jack released his hold and let the dead man fall to the floor, and then set about calmly beating out the flames on his body with his gloved hands. The Councillors looked at each other, slowly realizing they were free again. Marley stooped down and picked up the Lieutenant’s gun. Jack Fetch gave him a brief salute, and then disappeared, leaving nothing behind him but the smell of burning rags. Marley looked at the other Councillors.

  “I didn’t know he could do that. Did you know he could do that?”

  —

  Lester Gold, the Mystery Avenger, leaned against a lamppost and tried to get his breath. He felt old. No, worse than that; he felt old and tired and useless. He pushed himself away from the lamp-post, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Had to keep moving. Standing around could get you shot. He led his people down the deserted street, gun ready in his hand, eyes alert for any sign of movement. They were almost back in the suburbs now. Safe enough. There might be an army of the bastards, but Shadows Fall was a big place, and they couldn’t be everywhere at once. They’d been here, though. Several of the houses had been shelled, and two had been gutted by flames. You could still smell the smoke in the air. There was a haphazard, almost absent-minded feel to the damage, as though the invaders had just done it in passing, on their way to somewhere more important. But for the moment the streets were empty and things were quiet. Gold was grateful for that. He needed somewhere to rest and get his second wind. And more than that, he needed to feel there was still somewhere safe to be found in Shadows Fall. Without that, he couldn’t go on.

  When he’d first heard the news of the invading army, he’d set off to meet them in his old costume, not really knowing what to expect, but still fairly confident he could do something to help defend his adopted town. He’d caught a glimpse of himself in a shop-front window, and nodded crisply to himself in passing. He’d looked smart and fine in his gleaming black body armour with its brave red and blue flashes, and his cape swirled and snapped magnificently as he walked. He still had an old man’s face, but he felt young and strong and confident. He found the soldiers as they came howling through the narrow Old Town streets, shooting at everything that moved, and torching buildings at random. There were shouts and screams and thick black smoke billowing up as the invaders swept aside all resistance with almost casual ease. They’d barely even noticed the Mystery Avenger. He was one man, and they were an army, and even a Man of Action couldn’t hope to stand against tanks and rocket-launchers.

  He’d exchanged a few shots and then been forced to run for his life. He was soon caught up in a crowd of refugees, running this way and that as the soldiers herded them. He finally fought his way clear of the panic, and joined up with a group of other costumed adventurers and super-heroes. Like him, they’d taken costumes and uniforms out of old closets and put them on again for the first time in years, somehow convinced that the town needed them. And like him they’d gone to meet the invaders and found garish uniforms made them an easy target for soldiers with modern weaponry. Everyone had stories to tell, of heroes left bloodied and dying in the streets, or shot out of the air like clay pigeons.

  Heatstroke had been caught in a crossfire. The Double Danger twins had been buried under a collapsing building while trying to rescue the tenants. The Living Lightning had gone down trying to fight a dozen men at once. They kicked him to death. Someone took his bloodied cowl as a souvenir. And Ms Fate had tried to take on a helicopter gunship single-handed. It shot her out of the air with a smart missile that followed her wherever she flew.

  They should have known. The really powerful heroes never came to Shadows Fall. They were still in print in the outside world. People still believed in them. Only the second-raters, the lesser heroes, came to Shadows Fall. They were still brave and true and magnificent, and they went uncomplaining to their deaths like so many brightly-coloured mayflies.

  They didn’t all die. Some had the sense to run. The survivors found each other and banded together in small groups, as much for reassurance as strength. Superheroes joined up with super-villains, old enmities forgotten. Many old foes had made their peace on coming to Shadows Fall. For them the war was over, and it didn’t take them long usually to find they had more in common with each other than with ‘civilians’.

  The surviving heroes adapted, and fought a guerrilla campaign against the invaders, striking from the shadows and disappearing before they could be caught. They had some successes, but not enough to do more than slow the soldiers’ relentless advance. Heroes without any special abilities worked in small groups on the edges of the fray, rescuing innocent bystanders where they could, and getting them to safety. Or what safety was left in an occupied town.

  Gold stopped again, looked about him and listened carefully. Somewhere not too far away a fire was burning, but otherwise there was no sight or sound of the invaders. Either the army had passed this area by as not worth occupying, or they were spread so thinly now they couldn’t guard every street. Either way, there were bound to be patrols, and he’d better get his people moving before a patrol turned up and found them out in the open. He breathed hard, trying to force the exhaustion from his body. He was in excellent shape for a man of his age, but seeing so many die as he stood by helplessly had knocked a lot of his strength out of him. He felt his age now. But he couldn’t let that stop him. Not while people still depended on him.

  He looked back at his people, to find they were looking back at him with what little hope remained in them. Twenty-three men and women, the only survivors from an entire block targeted by the soldiers for destruction. They’d lost everything they ever owned or cared for, and now they were relying on him and his three fellow adventurers to save the day at the last possible moment, and get them to safety. Just like they always did in the stories. Gold knew better, but he didn’t say anything to disillusion them. It would have been cruel.

  He looked at his fellow heroes, and smiled slightly. Not the companions he would have chosen, but needs must when the devil drives. The Bloodred Claw had been an oriental villain, back when such things had been fashionable. He had to be in his nineties now, and looked
older than God, but he could still fire a poisoned dart with the best of them. The soldiers’ savagery hadn’t touched him, but their casual destruction had raised an anger in him he hadn’t felt for decades. He’d put on his ceremonial armour, left his restaurant, armed only with his old trademark dart gun, and gone out alone to stop the invaders.

  Then there was Ms Retaliator. She had had a brief career in the late seventies, when they were trying practically anything, but she never caught on. Ms Retaliator was actually a transvestite; a man who dressed up as a super-heroine to fight crime. That wasn’t actually common knowledge, but you can’t keep secrets for long in a place like Shadows Fall. She was a good and brave fighter at close quarters, but not much use against tanks and automatic weapons.

  The only one who seemed at all in his element was Captain Nam; a patriotic super-hero created to put a more positive face on the Vietnam war. He’d never really been popular, and was a merchandising disaster. He was coping well with the invasion; for him it was like coming home. At the moment he was sulking because Gold had hit him for saying he loved the smell of napalm in the evening.

  Gold looked up and down the street. Time to get moving, while it was still quiet. Not for the first time, he wondered who exactly it was he was hiding from. He had a name, the Warriors, but he was no wiser after Father Callahan’s explanation than before. The invaders didn’t seem to belong to any particular race or country. They had no flags and no particular uniforms. Just soldiers, with guns. They’d made no attempt to explain who they were, or what they wanted. They just moved in, took over, and shot anyone who complained. Sometimes they hanged protesters from lamp-posts, and left them dangling as a warning to others. But whoever or whatever they were, they were professional soldiers, and so far Shadows Fall had been unable to find anything with which to stop them.

  Somebody screamed in the next street. Gold gestured quickly for his people to stay put, padded silently forward, and eased his head round the corner of the street. Two soldiers had cornered a teenage girl in a doorway, and were laughing as they pulled at her clothes. She was crying and pleading with them, but they found that even funnier. Gold thought briefly that he ought to ignore this and take his people some other way. He had a responsibility to protect them, not go charging off to be a hero one more time. But he couldn’t turn his back on a cry for help. He protected the innocent and punished the guilty. That was who he was. He was the Man of Action, the Mystery Avenger, and that had to mean something.

  Besides, there were only two of the bastards. He could take them out, rescue the girl, and be gone before anyone even noticed he’d been there. He eased round the corner, moved silently down the street, and was upon the soldiers in a moment. He couldn’t use his gun; too noisy. One of them heard something, and started to turn. Gold hit him just above the ear, with all his strength behind it. The soldier’s head whipped round, and he was unconscious before he hit the ground. Nothing like brass knuckles under your glove to give you an edge. The other soldier started to bring his gun to bear, and Gold kicked it out of his hands. He winced despite himself as he recovered his balance; he wasn’t as supple as he used to be. The soldier lashed out with a karate kick, and he blocked it instinctively. Nice to know the old reflexes were still there.

  He closed with the soldier and coolly proceeded to beat the living crap out of him. His hands were hard and sure, and he had years of training and experience the soldier couldn’t hope to match. And the soldier didn’t have Gold’s anger; his ice-cold rage. Blood flew on the air, and none of it was Gold’s. It felt good to finally get his hands on one of the faceless enemy who had come to destroy his town, and he only stopped when he decided he was enjoying it too much. He let the unconscious soldier slump to the pavement, and moved forward to comfort the sobbing girl. She clung to him like a child, reassured by his costume. Children trusted heroes.

  He heard the soldiers coming before he saw them, and gave the girl a push to start her down the street towards his people. The girl didn’t want to leave him, and he had to push her again, harder. Then she heard the approaching jeep too, and turned and ran. Gold stood his ground. He couldn’t hope to outrun a jeep, but he should be able to hold it off long enough for the girl to reach his people and escape. They’d get her to safety. He’d catch up with them later. He drew his gun from the holster on his hip. It was old-fashioned now, not nearly as powerful as some modern handguns, but they’d been together for too many years to think about changing. It was accurate and reliable, and that was all he’d ever asked of any gun.

  The jeep came roaring round the corner at speed, practically on two wheels. One of the soldiers in it saw Gold, pointed at him and shouted something. It didn’t sound friendly. Gold took careful aim and blew the man right out the back of the jeep. It screeched to a halt, turning sideways to block the street. Gold aimed again and shot the driver while he was still in his seat. The other two soldiers bailed out and crouched down behind the jeep, bringing their own guns to bear. Gold moved quickly off the street to take cover in a doorway. It didn’t look too bad. There were only two of them. He could take care of them and catch up with his people later.

  And then another jeep roared round the corner into the street, followed by more soldiers hurrying on foot behind it. One of the trapped soldiers must have radioed for reinforcements. Gold counted fourteen before a sputter of gunfire drove him back into the doorway. Not good odds, but he’d faced worse. He ran a quick check through his pockets. One grenade, a smoke bomb well overdue for testing, and a handful of spare ammunition. He’d used up all his other tricks and pieces to get this far. More gunfire raked his position, some of it ricocheting off his body armour. He swore feelingly. The bullets weren’t powerful enough to penetrate, but the impact hurt like shit. He was going to be a mass of bruises tomorrow.

  One of the jeeps started to edge down the street, providing cover for the soldiers behind it. Gold leaned out of the doorway just long enough to blow out one of its tyres. He couldn’t let them get past him. His people needed time to get away. Bullets hammered all around him, chipping away at the brickwork. He could always try and shoot out the door’s lock and retreat into the house, but there’d be time for that later, when things got really desperate. They weren’t good now, but he could handle it. He grinned nastily. Strangely enough, he felt younger and more alert now than he had in ages. Fighting alone against overwhelming odds, to protect the innocent; that was what being a hero was all about.

  He leaned out of the doorway, snapped off two quick shots, and ducked back again, laughing breathlessly as he heard the soldiers shouting and cursing and scrabbling for cover. He’d play with them a little longer, until he’d bought enough time for his people, and then he’d make his usual last-minute, death-defying escape. He felt young again. He was the Mystery Avenger, the Man of Action, and he was going to show these people what that meant.

  He never saw the soldier with the sniper’s rifle, in a second-floor window at the house opposite. Never saw the soldier put his eye to the telescopic sight, take careful aim and pull the trigger. The bullet hit Gold squarely through the left eye, slamming his head back against the closed door. Lester Gold slumped bonelessly to the ground, leaving a thick smear of blood and brains on the door.

  The soldiers took it in turns to kick his body, and then set off down the street after the ones who’d got away.

  —

  The two Warrior officers looked round Doctor Mirren’s study with the same considered contempt they’d shown him. Dealing with traitors was a dirty business, their gaze implied, and not one they undertook by choice. They’d come to see Doctor Mirren because they’d been ordered to, but they didn’t have to like it. Mirren was studiously polite, and offered the officers a chair and a brandy, both of which the Warriors declined.

  The Colonel looked to be in his mid-fifties, with a lined face and iron grey hair cropped brutally short. Deep scowl and thin lips. Mirren knew the sort. Heavily into cold showers and healthy exercise. Prides himself on n
ever losing his temper, and drinks glasses of milk in private to placate his ulcers. Well into heart-attack territory. His aide was young and faceless and pathetically eager to look good in his Colonel’s eyes. Early twenties, immaculately turned out, no sense of humour. They both looked at Mirren as though they’d just caught him scooping money out of the local church’s poor box.

  “We have very little time to spare, Doctor,” said the Colonel brusquely. “Let us get to the purpose of this visit. The information you provided on the town’s defences has proved useful, but we need more. We are facing increasing and unexpected opposition, and the town… is not quite what we expected.”

  “Shadows Fall rarely is,” Mirren said calmly. “This is a special place, quite unique in the world. In this town, you can find what you need. Not what you want, necessarily, but what you need. You can find judgement, redemption, long-lost friends or a second chance. A toy you lost in your childhood, or vengeance on the man who did you wrong. You can find anything here; anything at all. But you have to be careful. You might not know what you need, till you get it.”

  “Is it possible to get a straight answer from anyone in this cursed town?” snapped the Colonel. “When I ask a simple question, I expect a simple answer, not a long rambling speech stuffed with hippie mysticism. I expected better from you, Doctor. You were supposed to be a man of science. Now tell me about the town’s defences. What more can we expect to encounter as we press further into the town? How big is the town? And who’s in charge of defence and counter-attack?”

  “Three simple questions, three simple answers. First: expect the unexpected. Second: the town is as big as it needs to be. And third: no one’s in charge here, except sometimes possibly Time. Anything more than that is going to cost you. Shall we discuss my terms?”

  “You know, I could make you talk sense,” said the aide.