Wayne of Gotham (25 page)

Then he saw the light ahead of him.

The headlight of an oncoming train.

That's impossible. The trains on this route always run clockwise around the city.

“Kronos: magnify ahead times fifty for two seconds.”

The image of the subway train ahead of him suddenly leaped forward.

Empty! What's the matter with Joker … couldn't he find a full commuter train in time
?

“PAM cutoff in three seconds,” the console announced.

“Kronos: start main drive,” Bruce said, pulling the straps on his restraining harness as tight as he could make them. The engine behind him spun up. He could feel the rumble through the seat.

“Kronos: prepare to execute on my command,” Bruce continued as he settled his hands on the steering and drive controls, his feet resting in an awkward position because of the Batsuit still under him. “Minimize profile smooth. Standby?”

“Ready,” the console confirmed. “PAM cutoff in three …”

The train was closing quickly with the rocketing flatbed.

“Two …”

Bruce held down the clutch, revving up the engine in anticipation.

“One … Cutoff.”

Bruce felt the release from the acceleration pressure of the rockets.

“Execute!” he yelled as he released the clutch.

The reactive armor shell of the vehicle suddenly collapsed inward, tightening to its smallest size and smoothing itself out. The chains that had bound it suddenly hung slack. They would still rake the car and possibly damage the adaptive armor, but Bruce hoped it would be enough to slip the bonds.

The wheels of the Batmobile squealed against the rough surface of the flatbed railcar. The Batmobile lurched rearward. The chains tore at the car but with the Batmobile's exterior minimized, the restraints could find no real purchase in the smooth surface. The Batmobile suddenly sprang free of the chains, its wheels pushing the still-careening railcar from under it as it shot backward.

Bruce shoved the clutch back in, standing on the brakes at the same time. The Batmobile landed astride one of the rails skidding to a stop.

The flatbed, shot forward toward the oncoming train, derailing it as it jammed under the front wheels. The subway train began to pile up in the tunnel, folding on itself in a rolling wreck that filled the passage ahead before it ground to a stop.

Bruce engaged the drive forward, skidding the Batmobile on the tracks and pointing it back toward Geilla Park Station.

“Kronos: plot course home, then display—”

An explosion rocked the Batmobile.

“Combat mode!” Bruce called out as he threw the throttle forward and released the clutch. The displays inside the cockpit of the Batmobile suddenly changed. Weapons systems were coming online in the far right display while the left-hand display showed the car's exterior shifting from transport optimization to adaptive armor. Heads-up targeting and maneuver displays sprang to life in front of him, although without the Batsuit he had lost some of the dimensional imaging.

It's not perfect … but it will have to do.

The Batmobile shot forward over the rails. Bruce could now see the Clown Police's ATVs charging down after him in the tunnel.

Small arms and RPGs. They've come to play.

In the night-vision display he saw the flare of an RPG ignition from the back of one of the ATVs. Bruce reacted instinctively, turning the Batmobile into the path of the ATV that had fired on him. The rocket-propelled grenade slid past the Batmobile, exploding against the wall and kicking Bruce's vehicle sideways.

Bruce drove on. The ATV driver wavered for a moment, uncertain as to whether he should drive into the wall or cross in front of the Batmobile.

It was hesitation enough for Bruce. He clipped the front of the ATV, sending both its occupants sprawling into the tunnel. Then he turned slightly back into the center back onto the tracks and accelerated.

Bowling for clowns.
Bruce smiled to himself.

The Batmobile plowed through the ATVs on the track, crushing two of them beneath its wheels. Four more bounded off the reactive armor, slamming into other ATVs and tumbling them all savagely across the tracks and against the walls of the enclosed tunnel. The remaining ATVs scattered out of the Batmobile's way as it powered through them, turning as quickly as they could to continue their pursuit.

Bruce now saw the Geilla Park Station platform on his left, still filled with commuters. He could make out their astonished faces as they watched the Batmobile roar past them a second time—now free of the railcar—pursued by what looked like traffic patrolmen in clown masks on ATVs.

With that commuter train blocking the westbound tunnel, it's going to be a long commute home for them. I wonder if anyone will believe their story
?

The Batmobile roared down the tunnel, its wheels straddling the rails. The tunnel curved through the bowels of Gotham, snaking to the right and then turning hard to the north.

Fashion District coming up next. That track runs parallel with the City, Financial, and the Sommerset Express lines under the old Cotton Station.

Another explosion shook the vehicle, sending its back end momentarily into the air. The wheels rebounded as the chassis crashed back toward the tracks, skidding slightly.

Bruce glanced at the rear display. The remaining ATVs were still behind him, though they were falling further behind.

He could clearly see the bright area of the Cotton Station platforms ahead through the night-vision displays … and the burning headlight of the scheduled commuter train closing with him directly ahead.

The regular Diamond District commuter. It has a stop here. I'll swing to the other track before we reach the platform and lead these clowns down the abandoned Harbor line.

Bruce's eyes widened.

The Diamond commuter train was not slowing down to stop at the station. He could see the panicked engineer frantically trying to work the suddenly ineffective controls.

Bruce pitched the throttle full forward. The Batmobile responded immediately, surging forward down the track toward the rapidly approaching train. The Cotton Station had platforms on both sides of the track, but only one of them was now in use. There would only be commuters on the western platform, Bruce thought. The east side platform should be deserted. He
hoped
it was deserted.

Never play chicken with a train …

The Batmobile cleared the tunnel moments before the train. Bruce kicked the thrusters again, to the right this time, shoving the Batmobile off the tracks and up onto the east side platform. The back of the Batmobile shattered tiles covering the subway wall.

Bruce slammed the brake pedal to the floor. The tires of the Batmobile squealed on the cement of the platform. The concrete wall at the north end of the platform was looming ahead of him. To his left, the Diamond District train was still roaring through the station, its cars still filling the tunnel at the northern end of the station, leaving him nowhere to turn.

The Batmobile continued its skid against the right-hand wall, the all-too-solid end of the platform rushing toward Bruce.

How long can this train be
?

Suddenly, the last car cleared the tunnel and Bruce kicked the thrusters to the left. The Batmobile responded, slammed side-ways by the thrusters back onto the barely cleared tracks and vaulting back into the darkness of the subway tunnel.

“N
ow
that's
what I call railroading!” the Joker howled. “I say it's time we all enjoyed a little mass transit.”

An empty train pulled onto Platform Sixty-one, its doors opening. More trains could be heard approaching behind it. The Clown Police grabbed their weapons, piling into the open subway cars.

“All aboard!” Joker screamed. “It's coupon day and everybody rides the ride!”

B
ruce gulped down a breath. The external optics had taken a beating and their clarity had suffered. Some of the feeds were blurry from the right side of the car.

Through the blur, however, he could see something quite clearly: another train, paralleling him on a second set of tracks, its doors open and filled with heavily armed clown police.

Bruce throttled back suddenly. The train on the parallel track continued forward, its breaks squealing in reaction. The Clown Train could not brake fast enough. Bruce wheeled the Batmobile around the end of the train, falling in behind the last car. He could see through the smudged cameras that the clown police were gathering quickly in the rear car, working to open the access door so they could fire the rocket-propelled grenades. The momentum of the train continued to carry them forward into the tunnel of the old Harbor line.

Wait for it … Wait for it …

The breaking train shifted slightly as it crossed the switcher points to the old Coventry line and veered to the right.

Bruce nudged the steering to the left. The Batmobile disappeared into the forgotten crosstown tunnel to Coventry as the clown train ground to a halt down the side tunnel.

A
train was stalled on the crossing ahead of him. Another was roaring after him from behind. The red control lights were burning bright in unheeded warning. Bruce dropped the Batmobile precipitously down through an access conduit, the sounds of the grinding collision of the trains fading behind him as the Batmobile fell onto the Westside University line below.

The entire subway system had become a deadly gauntlet.

It's time for this mouse to leave the maze.

He roared past the University Station up the Coventry line only to find yet another pair of subway cars—both packed with clown police—converging with the northbound rail and falling in behind him once again.

The old subway train rushed up behind him. The clowns' small-arms fire pinged off the walls and the reactive armor of the vehicle shell.

Bruce swung the car off of the main Coventry line and into an abandoned tunnel. Just behind him, the points of the rail line suddenly shifted, and the pursuing railcars careened into the abandoned tunnel after him.

He's got me. Joker knows I've gone down a dead-end spur, and he's sure he's won.

The fuel gauges were hovering just above empty and the power reserves had dwindled to eight percent. When they went, the armor would be ineffective and everything could come apart.

Ahead of him he could see the barricade at the end of the line. Beyond that, the tunnel ended in an opening beneath the Westside Bridge.

“Kronos: surface,” Bruce said, his voice weary.

The train was nearly on him, the RPGs, no doubt, at the ready.

Near the end of the track, a pair of steel ramps dropped down onto the tracks. The Batmobile roared up the ramp on its wheels just before it cleared the end-of-line barricade.

The careening subway train full of clown police did not.

Driving beneath the Westside Bridge, Bruce closed his eyes.

Joker had tried to stop him. Bruce wondered if something far more sinister awaited him at home.

Wayne Manor / Bristol / 11:40 p.m. / Present Day

The servants' entrance door rattled slightly from the key working the deadbolt.

He always complained about it but never got around to fixing it.

The deadbolt gave way and the door handle toggled the latch. The old man's silhouette was framed in the panes fitted into the upper panel of the door, obscured by the Wayne Family crest etched in the frosted glass.

I've waited in the dark. I've been in the dark so long …

The door swung wide. The silhouette was clear now; stark and sharp against the brightly lit stoop. The outline of the overcoat and the slight gleam off the hatless, balding pate were both so familiar to him. There was something small and rectangular clutched in his left hand as he entered the dark space of the servants' hall, closing the door behind him. The balding man reached for the light switch …

But the lights came on before he could reach the toggle.

“A little early Christmas shopping, Alfred?” Bruce said quietly from the adjoining servants' dining area. He was still dressed in the faux police uniform, his shoes crossed atop the edge of the long table as he leaned back in the chair. His hand slowly withdrew from the light switch on the wall behind him as he eyed his manservant with detachment.

Alfred Pennyworth caught his breath, startled for the moment but recovering quickly. He crossed his hands behind him, taking a parade rest stance that allowed him to hide the package in his hand from site. “Master Bruce! My apologies; I understood you were to be out for the evening.”

“Plans change, Alfred,” Bruce said with his calm voice about ten degrees colder than normal. He shifted slightly in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest. “So, I see you've picked up a little something … What is it?”

“Nothing, sir, really,” Alfred's complexion blanched as he shrugged. “Just a little something I picked up for a friend.”