Chapter 6
It was even worse than he could have imagined. He heard the cries of the trapped and dying long before the fire itself came into view. It had spread out over at least a thousand acres--maybe more. Helicopters could be seen flying overhead with basins of water destined for the worst areas of the fire.
The air was black with smoke and so thick he could taste it in his lungs--powers not withstanding--and he found himself needing to use his x-ray vision just to find the source of the cries for help. While the forest fire itself was a problem, Clark’s main focus was on saving the lives of those trapped by the fire first. He’d worry about how to help put it out later.
Eventually he zeroed in on the multitude of fire and rescue vehicles outside a large shopping centre. This was definitely where he was most needed and he forced himself to put on his "game face" as he landed next to the fire chief, a large man with a thick beard and tired eyes.
Williams, his name tag read.
“Superman! Are we glad to see you!” the man exclaimed, and Clark inwardly winced at the visible relief that seemed to radiate from him. This man had waited hours for him to get here.
“How can I help?” he asked. He knew better than to assume or to spring into action without checking with the experts first. The last thing he wanted to do was make their job any harder--especially after showing up so late.
“The shopping centre,” Fire Chief Williams said, and Clark felt the anxiety in the man’s voice. “I can’t even get my men inside because the fire is completely out of control. Some people got out but there are many more still trapped and the building is about to collapse.”
“I understand,” Clark replied, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. The town was a haze of red and he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of anxiety that permeated his entire being. He’d never felt like this before. The suit had always been his way of detaching himself from the situation so that he could get the job done.
But looking at Chief Williams, Clark felt unsure. His heart was beating twice as fast as it normally did, and he felt himself hesitate in a way he didn’t understand. Something about this fire felt familiar and terrifying in a way he didn’t know how to process. The smell of the smoke and the heat pressing in at all sides was oppressive. He knew that feeling. He knew this smell.
<So that’s what you’ve been hiding.>
No. He would not think about Mayson right now.
“Superman?” Chief Williams’ voice broke into his thoughts, and he realised he’d been standing there frozen in front of the man.
He shook his head, trying desperately to rid himself of these feelings. These people needed a strong, in-control superhero, not a man having a panic attack.
“Leave it to me, Chief Williams,” he said, adopting his authoritative "Superman tone".
“Thank you,” the man said and Clark swallowed the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him as he lifted his fist and floated back into the sky to survey the building.
His x-ray vision told him that the fire had originated in the southwest corner of the building. A huge tree was stretched across several power lines on top of the roof of the building. Clark suspected the lighting had struck this building directly.
Structurally, the roof was about to crumble. He knew that anyone trapped there would be in the most danger and so he concentrated his search efforts on that area for people who might still be alive.
To both his relief and horror, there were several people trapped in the basement of the building about to be crushed by the cement ceiling that was steadily becoming weaker. He swallowed heavily as he realised that simply flying down there and grabbing the victims one by one was not going to be enough. This was a precision job. One wrong move and the rescue of one person might cause the ceiling to cave in another area. If he didn’t move fast enough, he risked losing everyone, but he also knew that going too fast could be catastrophically worse.
He fought the feeling of lightheadedness that threatened to overcome him. Superman could not afford to be indecisive. It was time to act.
He took a deep breath and shot down towards a cluster of people who were desperately moving rocks out of the way in an attempt to dig themselves out. One by one, he moved the rocks, taking great care not to disturb the fragile nature of the structure.
It was like that game--Jenga--he’d played with Lois at the Lexor Hotel during their undercover assignment. You had to remove small pieces of wood one at a time placing them on top of the tower but weakening it in the middle. But remove one wrong block and the entire tower would collapse.
Clark had never been very good at Jenga.
He had no idea how much time had passed as he worked slowly and methodically to get people out. He ignored the cries of pain, the exuberant thank-yous, and the tears that stained his suit as he set each person down, and instead flew back into the building and started again. Stone by stone, he worked, until his suit was stained black and red with blood, soot, and debris from the wreckage. He forced his mind to focus solely on the task at hand and repeated to himself over and over "just one more", until he finally found himself with no one alive left to save.
He landed once more in front of Chief Williams, exhausted and covered in grime.
“That’s the last of them,” he told him, as he wiped his streak-worn brow. “What about the surrounding fires?”
“Most of the buildings and homes are empty, and the neighboring towns have been put on evacuation alert. Our crews are digging out a fireline right now to contain the spread of the blaze,” Chief Williams said.
“Do your men need help digging the fire line?”
“I’m not sure how much good that will do,” he admitted helplessly. “No matter how far we dig, the fire seems to be spreading. One shift in the wind and who knows what will go up next.”
“What if I dug the fireline, then helped your helicopter crews get the water basins to the worst areas of the fire?”
“You can’t just put the fire out with your super breath?” Chief Williams asked, and Clark shook his head regretfully. Chief Williams hadn't meant to be hurtful with his question. Lord knows Clark still had trouble figuring out the most effective use of his powers, so he couldn’t blame civilians for thinking him to be more powerful than he actually was.
“I go at that thing with my super breath and we will have a much bigger fire on our hands,” he said.
“All right,” Chief Williams acquiesced with a nod. “But please hurry. If this thing reaches another town…”
Clark didn’t hear him complete the sentence. He flew into the air, located the men digging the fireline and shot himself into the ground digging furiously around the perimeter of the fire. When the fireline was finished, he flew back into the air but not before he overheard one of the emergency workers say, “Better late than never, but where the hell was he earlier?”
It almost stopped him mid-flight. He could feel himself falter in the air. He even lost a bit of altitude--as if the wind had been knocked out of him with that one simple phrase.
He knew exactly where he’d been earlier. He’d never hated himself more than he did at that moment.
*** *** ***
Lois sat on the bed against the headboard, hugging her knees to her chest. She was trying to ignore the keys to the Jeep sitting there on the small desk across the room. If she pretended they weren't there, she could still believe that Clark had gone to get dinner like he'd said he was going to. It didn't matter, either, that he'd already been gone an hour; he'd said he'd needed some air, so maybe he just decided to walk there instead.
Maybe he'd decided to eat there to have some time to himself. Or he'd gotten caught up chatting about the similarities of small town life with one of the locals. Or someone had had a flat tire and he'd helped them change it. Or the pizza place was super busy and the food wasn't ready yet.
Any number of things could have made him take this long. It didn't mean he'd taken off and left her. It didn't mean that he'd gotten lost or hurt in this strange town with a night sky filled with smoky air. Oh, God. Her heart lurched. What if he'd gotten lost? Or hurt? What if he'd had a panic attack and gotten hit by a car? Should she call hospitals?
No. Breathe. She needed to stay strong and keep her head on her shoulders. She scrambled off the bed, grabbed her keys hastily, and flung the door open. She was assaulted by a wall of hazy smoke, and her lungs spasmed with coughs. Even if she did take the Jeep to go look for him, there's no way she'd be able to find him. It was dark and smoky, and this place was unfamiliar mountainous country. She could end up in a ditch or worse.
She went to go back into the room and found it locked, the door having fallen shut behind her. Dang it. She patted her pockets futilely; she knew she hadn't grabbed the key card.
Lois pulled her shirt over her nose and mouth and walked over to the office. She breathed a sigh of relief that it was the same lady that had checked her in. "Hi," Lois said with a self-conscious smile. "I seem to have locked myself out already."
"Happens all the time, hon," she said, waving her hand to dismiss any worries. "Just take me a sec to make you a new one."
"You, um, haven't seen my partner around, have you? I mean, I guess you wouldn't know what he looks like, but... kinda tall, dark, and handsome, actually. He didn't...come and get himself a room or anything?"
She gave her a knowing smile. "Lover's quarrel?"
Lois flushed. "No, no...he's my work partner and we were on our way to work out of town, and...the fire...anyway, he left to get food and hasn't come back."
"Well, in either case, no one's been into the office but you in the last few hours. Though I suspect evacuees might start pouring in any time now." She gave her a sympathetic expression. "I'll call your room if I see your partner."
"Thanks," Lois said, deflated, as she took the new key card from the desk clerk.
She pulled her shirt up over her nose once again as she headed back to the room. Once inside, she pulled the curtains open and stared out the window at the parking lot and...what should have been a view of the mountains beyond. It was all a haze, and the light of the moon and the parking lot lights made everything seem eerie.
Lois shuddered. What was she going to do?
There was every chance that he was just stuck at the pizza place because the smoke had gotten too oppressive to walk back. He was just waiting things out, right? But if that were the case, why hadn't he called her to come pick him up?
She grabbed the phonebook and made phone calls to all three of the nearby pizza places. One of them was closed, and the other two hadn't gotten any pickups from anyone fitting Clark's description. Should she call other restaurants? Should she call the hospital?
Oh, God, how was she supposed to find him? How was she supposed to know if he was hurt or lost or...or...just being petulant Clark?
Because he wouldn't do that to you, her heart reminded her. Oh, he'd taken off for longer than this before, but never when he was this emotional and certainly never when she was alone and practically next door to a natural disaster.
In a desperate, flailing attempt to do something, she grabbed Clark's messenger bag and snagged his planner. These things always came with a little address book at the front, but no one ever filled those out. Why bother doing it year after year? That's what her Rolodex was for. But Clark did. Her fastidious, anal-retentive, wonderful partner.
She flipped through the pages until she found the entry for Martha and Jonathan Kent (not Mom and Dad, because how do you alphabetize that? she knew he'd reason). She went and sat down on the bed close to the nightstand where the room's phone sat. She took a deep breath. What was even going to say? It's not like Clark had run off to Kansas in the span of a little more than an hour.
She didn't have any idea, but she couldn't sit and do nothing. So she grabbed the phone and dialed the number before she lost her nerve. She started panicking as the phone rang and rang. Was it too late? What even was the time difference between Kansas and New Troy? Did this count as an emergency?
"Hello?" came Martha's warm voice.
"Martha? It's Lois...Lois Lane, Clark's partner. But you knew that. I, um, hope it's not too late, but I was kinda worried, and I wasn't sure what to do...and, oh, it was dumb to call you! I'm sor--"
"Lois, honey, it's okay. Take a breath," Martha said, her voice somehow reassuring across the distance. "Now, tell me what's wrong."
"I don't even know what's wrong! I can't find Clark! I mean, I guess it's only been an hour, but he went out for pizza and hasn't come back yet, and I wouldn't be worried if we were in the city, maybe, but we're out of town on an assignment. We got stuck in the middle of nowhere because of a forest fire and got a motel room. And it's all dark and smoky and he didn't take my car. He's out walking somewhere in that haze and smoke."
"Oh, that does sound a bit concerning. I can see why you're worried."
"What should I do? You haven't heard from him, have you?" Lois fretted, insanely grateful that this woman didn't seem to mind a frantic call from her grown son's almost-maybe-kinda-someday-hopefully girlfriend about him having been missing for an hour.
"Well, no, I haven't heard from him since before your work trip. But...I imagine he's...maybe caught somewhere in town, taking shelter until the smoke clears a bit so he can get back. Clark's a smart man. I'm sure he's fine."
"But why wouldn't he call me, then? I could go pick him up. And I don't know if you know...I mean, you said you talked to him the other day...he's not been okay, Martha..."
"Lois, honey, try and calm down," she told her. "Take a deep breath. Now, there is one thing I'm absolutely certain of and that is that Clark is okay wherever he is."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I'm his mother. I would feel it. Just like I have also felt that he hasn't been the same since Mayson Drake's funeral. Am I warm?"
Lois choked on a sob. "He's not been acting like himself at all. I don't know what to do. I've never seen him like this before. It's more than grief...it's almost...this sounds just foolish, but I think he's blaming himself somehow."
Martha was quiet for a few moments. "That doesn't sound foolish at all. Clark has always taken on more responsibility than he should, even as a kid."
"I guess that does sound like him," Lois said, sniffling a little. "I've noticed he does have a bit of a hero complex."
Martha let out something between a cough and a laugh, then she chuckled. "Yes, that certainly does sound like him. Now, you should probably hang up with me to keep the line clear in case he does call."
"That sounds like a good idea. Maybe I'll call the nearby hospital just in case, too."
"Sounds wise."
"Martha?"
"Yes?"
"...thank you," she said quietly.
"Thank you for caring so much about my boy," Martha said, and Lois could hear the emotion in her voice. "Oh, and Lois? Don't hesitate...to call me, I mean. Any time of the day or night," she added. "I don't tend to worry about whether he's okay physically, but mentally...Well, if you need me, I'm here."
"Thanks, Martha. I'll be in touch." Lois set the receiver down on its cradle and took a deep breath. She felt...calmer. Still worried, but calmer. How amazing would it be to have a mother like Martha Kent?
She sighed deeply before collecting the phone book again to look for the number to the local hospital. She hesitated before dialing, though, the ring tone droning in her ear. She tried to remind herself of Martha's certainty that he was physically okay; this call was only to cross something off the list, narrow down the possibilities in a methodical way. She did this all the time with stories.
She'd called hospitals before, morgues, too. For work, and...that unspeakable night that Clark had died. They'd dragged his body off and...well, she'd clung desperately to the hope that maybe they'd uncharacteristically rolled him out of the car at the doors of a hospital, and maybe he'd been miraculously saved somehow. Even though he'd not been breathing the last time she'd touched him.
And she'd blamed herself for his death, hadn't she?
But that wasn't the same as Clark and Mayson. Clark hadn't had anything to do with why Mayson was killed. She couldn't understand why Mayson's death was hitting him so hard, so much that he'd blown right past grief and into panic and despair. Grief she could understand. Even feeling a little guilty...all the things they could have done differently that might not have led Mayson to that time and place where she'd been killed. But there was nothing under Clark's control that she could think of that would put the blame on him. She would have to try and help him see that....
If he came back. When he came back. He always came back to her. Even from the dead, he'd come back to her.
