Chapter 5
Clark spent the next two days trying desperately to act normally while waiting for the axe to fall.
He’d risked a flight to Kansas at what would normally be milking time for the Kent herd, staying high above the farm and using his enhanced vision to check for signs of human habitation. The old farmhouse had been deserted, devoid of the warmth and companionship that had always characterised his childhood home, and Wayne Irig was in the process of looking after the livestock. Relieved that his parents had apparently gotten away safely and that their livelihood was being cared for, he hadn’t repeated his visit.
The distraction he’d experienced at work ever since he’d first discovered the bugs had intensified, leading Lois to rebuke him for his lack of attention- and then with unfortunate timing, he’d heard a call for Superman almost immediately, leaving Lois fuming and further damaging their already fragile relationship.
Now he paced restlessly around his apartment, unable to concentrate on anything other than Luthor and his threats. Finally, he flopped down on the couch and flicked on the television. There was a baseball game he wanted to see.
The front door rattled, then was shoved open, bringing Clark to his feet in surprise. Lex Luthor stepped into the room, inspecting his surrounds with a look of distaste.
“What are you doing here?” Clark snapped.
“Can’t you guess?” The billionaire’s smooth voice was faintly mocking.
“I won’t accept your deal, Luthor,” Clark spat back, using the tone that rarely failed to intimidate even the most hardened of criminals.
Luthor appeared unmoved, holding up one finger in admonition. “Ah, but that’s business.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small silver cigar case. “I make a point of never mixing business with pleasure.” Casually he flicked open the case with his thumb. Instantly Clark felt a wave of unexpected pain roll over him, making his knees buckle. “And believe me, this is a pleasure, Mr Kent.” Luthor stepped forward, stooping low to bring the Kryptonite into close proximity to Clark. Clark let out an involuntary groan as the pain seemed to double and double again. “I could kill you now,” Luthor stated silkily. “But I won’t. Far better to make you writhe.”
Clark felt the agony lessen as Luthor moved away and raised his head, confused. Luthor had him at his mercy, so why was he walking away? Through the pain-filled haze that enveloped his vision, he could see three black-clad, hooded figures standing just inside the door. As he watched, trying to summon the energy to move, Luthor nodded to one of the figures and took up his own position in front of the door. Clark felt his mouth go dry; the hooded figures had a distinct aura of menace around them, and in his weakened state he was no match for even one of them, let alone three.
Clark had never really learned to fight, reasoning that with his superhuman strength it would actually be dangerous to other people. Without his powers and weakened by the Kryptonite, he didn’t stand a chance against three well-trained and obviously experienced fighters. Two of the men grabbed his arms; he kicked out at the third, a move that only earned him a clip across the back of the head with a cosh one of his holders had secreted up his sleeve. The blow made him dizzy; he sagged in the grip of the two thugs, only to get a ferocious kick to the stomach that brought him to his knees. Once he was down, all three joined in, landing hefty kicks that felt like jackhammers from their steel-capped work boots. He curled in on himself, trying to protect his abdomen and head as the blows rained down.
As abruptly as it started, the attack stopped. Responding to some unseen signal, the attackers withdrew, one pausing to land a last kick to the spine.
Clark lay on the ground, the cool flooring feeling good against his cheek. Shivering and coughing, his entire body felt racked with pain.
Time passed. He had no idea how long he lay on the floor before he felt able to move.
Sitting up gingerly, he stifled a groan as his abused muscles and organs let him know their condition. Slowly he pulled himself up to stand shakily, taking a mental inventory. While he had little experience, nothing had the grating sensation he’d always imagined went hand-in-hand with broken bones; and while he was in pain, it wasn’t overwhelming. He’d be black and blue in the morning, he was fairly certain, although Luthor’s thugs had made certain to avoid places that would be visible to the general public.
Picking up the phone, CLark started to dial the local police precinct and then broke the connection. What would he say? Lex Luthor exposed him to a chunk of Kryptonite, and then set his goons on him? Even Henderson wouldn't believe him. Same went for seeing a doctor. He couldn't risk an examination revealing his secret. The only thing he could do was wait it out. When his powers started to return, he'd heal fast enough.
For the first time, Clark truly understood the helplessness of Luthor's victims.
***
Morning came.
Clark woke up and reached out to silence the alarm clock, then sat up with a pain-filled hiss.
Every single bruise and sore spot was making its presence known, and he felt lightheaded and strange- probably a fever. He’d run a fever after that first exposure in Smallville as well. Well, there was no way he was going to work today. Not when he could barely think straight.
The obligatory phone call made, he went to the window seat, collapsing gratefully onto its surface. This was ridiculous; he, who could normally catch cruise missiles and lift rockets into orbit, could barely cross a room without feeling like he’d been pulverised. Which, he considered, wasn’t far from the truth.
What was he going to do? Luthor in possession of his secret was a disaster of nightmarish proportions. Luthor in possession of both his secret and a chunk of Kryptonite was catastrophic.
Where had he even gotten the poisonous rock? Two possibilities occurred to Clark; it was either the piece that Wayne Irig had sent for testing at the state lab in Wichita, or another piece had been discovered. Why had he never gotten around to searching the area around Shuster’s Field, like he’d intended? Well, he was going to have to find the time and a safe method for disposing of any shards he found. Once Luthor had exposed his secret to the world, the last thing he wanted was anyone getting a hold of any more Kryptonite. As for this piece… his money was on it being the one Wayne had found. Luthor certainly had the resources, the connections, and the motive to find wherever it had disappeared to.
The sunlight felt good on his aching body. Giving up on the struggle to stay awake, he drifted off.
***
The sound of the telephone ringing woke him. Groggy and disoriented, he sat up too quickly and reeled as his head swam sickeningly.
The answering machine kicked in before he got to the handset.
“Clark?” It was Lois’s voice. “Clark, if you’re there, pick up the phone.” She sighed. “Okay, I guess you’re still sick. A construction crane’s collapsed, right across from Centennial Park, and Superman is nowhere to be seen. You’re the only one that seems to know how to find him- how do you do that, anyway? Never mind. Just get him, will you?”
She clicked off, leaving Clark staring at the machine in dread.
***
Lois hung up the payphone and turned back to the scene in front of her. The construction crane had been working on the site of an expansion of the biggest downtown shopping mall in Metropolis; now, it was leaning precariously against the office block across the street from the construction site. Midway down the block from Centennial Park, it was one of the busiest areas in the entire city. The street had been cordoned off and traffic rerouted; still, Lois knew without a doubt that the usual inner city traffic would be building up, quite possibly close to gridlock. Shading her eyes, she scanned the sky yet again for the familiar blue and red streak that heralded Superman’s arrival.
Where was he? It wasn’t like him not to appear at the scene of a potential disaster. And she’d done everything she could to get him there, short of shouting ‘help, Superman’- which would probably be futile anyway. After all, if he couldn’t hear the cacophony of the sirens of the multitude of emergency vehicles, there was no chance he was going to hear her.
Lois pushed her way back through the crowd that had assembled at the barriers, trying to get some idea of what the emergency services were planning. From what she’d been able to gather before she left the barricade to call Clark, the crane’s operator was still trapped in the cab of the vehicle, but no one had been able to contact him via radio. The difficulty lay in getting to him; mounted as it was on top of the building, the crane’s control cab was higher than the longest ladder truck could reach from street level. Now, as she reached the front of the crush, she caught snatches of conversation between rescue personnel; things like ‘unresponsive’, ‘slumped over’ and ‘high winds’. She spotted a familiar figure and called out “Henderson!”
The dour detective turned; seeing her, he walked over to the barrier.
“Lane. Where’s Kent?”
“Out sick. What’s happening?”
“Too bad.” He lowered his voice. “I was hoping he could contact Superman.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Winds picking up,” Henderson commented in an oblique answer to her question.
As if to illustrate his point, a gust of wind blew sharply down the street, playing havoc with the gathered crowd’s clothes. Overhead, a metallic groan sounded as the tower crane- already prone to damage in high winds- buckled further. Small pieces of debris rained on the street below, dislodged from the office building’s façade. Lois ducked instinctively.
Almost instantly, uniformed cops started waving the crowd back, moving the cordon further away from the stricken crane and the damaged building. Henderson darted away as the crane slipped again, causing more debris to fall to the ground. Lois looked up as the cordon was forced back, hoping yet again that she’d see the familiar primary colours of Superman’s Suit hovering overhead; instead, all she saw was news choppers and what looked like a police helicopter keeping them from approaching the scene too closely. Another helicopter came into view, its side door open and what looked like a rescue worker leaning out. She gathered that they were going to try and get the crane operator to safety.
But it was too late. With a high pitched metallic screech, the end of the crane folded in on itself, losing contact with the building it had been leaning on and plummeting towards the ground. As the stress became too great, the entire crane arm tore away from its supports with a jerk that changed its trajectory slightly. The arm crashed to the ground with a thunderous roar, clipping the corner of the already damaged office building and filling the air with dust and flying debris.
