Hi,
Sorry I'm posting late Wednesday again. I always try to do better, but time just seems to get away from me.
I hope you enjoy ...
Previously on My Wife The Boss:
“Son, I'm coming with you. I might not be up to speed, but if that theater's as full as we think, then you'll need all the help you can get.” Clark stared Matt down. “Don't worry. I'll be careful.”
“What about the other shelter?”
“It can wait until we sort this out. People are in danger and I might be able to help.”
For a second, Matt held his father's stare, then nodded. “OK, let's get moving.”
Matt spun into the suit and, grabbing Clark's arm, zipped into the sky. The journey to their destination was just long enough for Matt to realize that carrying his father was perceptibly easier. Surely Dad was doing his own flying ... or almost, but they didn't have time to test the theory. They had people to rescue.
*****
continued ...
Clark stared up at the building in front of him as flames shot high into the amber sky. On all sides, firemen trained their hoses on the burning edifice while paramedics set up makeshift triage units to assess the injured.
Fortunately, many audience members had already made their way outside unassisted. The Old Town Theater might have been built in the late 1800s to accommodate Vaudeville, but it had been recently renovated, and though the owners had retained the décor of the original building, it fulfilled all mandated safety rules of the current century.
Still, people remained trapped in the upper balconies, so Jor-El had gone to their rescue. He'd been a little uncertain about leaving his father, but Clark had assured him he wouldn't do anything risky, and with the emergency services on the scene, Clark doubted there would be much for him to do other than report on the fire.
But as he watched the flames leap even higher, Clark couldn't help but wonder why the fire had spread so quickly through the theater. Had this been the work of city's bomber? Clark dismissed the thought from his mind as quickly as it formed. It couldn't be. The M.O. was completely different, and besides, Clark's own instincts were telling him the fire wasn't the work of the man from the sketch.
Was it possible that this was an insurance job? But even that seemed unlikely. According to The Daily Planet reviews, the Christmas show was a sell-out, and he had a hard time believing the management would risk torching the structure with customers inside. So, could it have been due to shoddy construction work?
Clark ran his hand through his hair in frustration. What the heck was he doing, standing here contemplating who was at fault, while a full-scale emergency was playing out right before his eyes?
He wasn't used to being a bystander, yet he couldn't help feeling useless. Matt was doing what he had been born to do, and doing it well. Earlier this evening, Clark had told his son how proud he was of him, and he was ... he really was. But it was hard to stand around and do nothing.
“Excuse me, sir,” Clark heard a voice at his elbow and turned to see one of the fire chiefs. “You're standing too close to the building. It could be dangerous, and my men need room to work.”
The fireman looked too young to be in charge, or perhaps Clark was growing too old. Yet, he wasn't about to give up without a fight.
He flashed his press pass. “Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” His voice was more irritable than intended as he added, unnecessarily, “I'm with the press.”
“I'm sorry, but that doesn't change things. Please, move back behind the barriers.” The fireman stood his ground. “We have a job to do, Mr. Kent. I know you do, too, and once we have this fire under control, I'll be happy to answer any questions you have.” He made a gesture, and when Clark finally stepped back, he returned to supervising his crew.
A blanket of desolation enveloped Clark as he walked into the shadows. Why had he insisted he come? There was nothing he could do ...
“Help!”
Clark's head snapped up.
“Help us, we're trapped!”
A quick look around confirmed no one else had heard the cry for help. He peered into the smoke-filled alleyway that ran down the side of the theater.
The voices became a refrain. “Help us! Please, anyone!”
Well, Clark couldn't just stand there. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled after the fire chief. “Hey! There are people down here!”
But Clark's voice was drowned out by the roar of the fire as it attempted to consume the building, and the sounds of the frantic emergency crews.
The shouts continued and Clark recognized they held a note of hysteria. He moved closer to the emergency workers and called louder. “Chief! Can anyone hear me? There are people in danger, and we need a team down here ... fast!”
Still, none of the firemen paid attention; they were just too overwhelmed to notice another cry amid the cacophony. Clark decided to try a different approach.
<Matt!> He opened up the telepathic link with some urgency. <Come in, Matt. Are you listening?>
There was the echo of a pulse beating hard inside Clark's head, which gave Clark a clue to his son's state of mind.
<Dad! What is it? I'm kinda busy up here. The fire teams haven't reached this level yet, and there's a lot of people waiting to get out.>
<Can you cope, Matt?>
<I think so. There's a fire escape at the end of the hall, but some people got hurt in the crush, and I need to get them out. They're starting to panic.> Clark heard Matt's breath catch in his throat and there was an edge to his son's voice when it came again. <Hey, sir! Stay back ... will you? There are women and kids here and if everyone takes their time, we'll all get out safely.> There was a delay for a few seconds, in which Clark's worry increased, for his son and for the people down the alley who appeared to be forgotten. <Sorry, Dad, I didn't mean you, but some people are crazy ... Dad, I have to go. There will be a stampede here if I leave, and I'm not sure the stairs can cope with a riot. Was there something you wanted?> The last was asked almost as an afterthought.
<No! I'm fine. You just concentrate on what you have to do.> Clark headed back toward the alley, picking up speed as he moved. <Good luck, Matt.>
In that second, Clark made his decision. Everyone had jobs to do -- and this was his. He wouldn't back away and leave those people to die. Without wasting another second, he plunged into the smoke, letting it hide his shift to superspeed.
But there was no one to notice. All eyes were trained on the front of the theater, where the flames licked greedily at the massive billboard. The star's names, just hours earlier illuminated in lights, fizzled and burst with a loud pop, causing a shower of multi-colored sparks.
Clark slowed as he reached the end of the alley. There were no windows in this side wall, nothing visible to give him any indication of what was going on inside other than the heat radiating from the wall. If left alone, pretty soon the bricks would begin to buckle and collapse. He needed to free those trapped inside and get back to warn the firemen.
The ground at the back of the theater sloped away and there were steep steps twisting downward -- a basement, perhaps?
Clark took the steps at a run, his feet hardly touching the concrete, and was soon standing before an ancient door. He could just make out the faint words 'fire exit' painted on the wood. From the look of things, this escape hadn't been used in a long time. Confirming his suspicions was the pile of bricks, torn bags of cement and rusty tools preventing the door from budging.
But the door rattled as it was hit from inside, and Clark heard the voices once again, but this time they were close enough to be distinct.
“David, it's no use. It's stuck ...”
“What the hell?” The reply came through shallow pants, as the speaker fought for breath, but his anger was clear. “It's a fire-exit!”
Clark felt his jaw drop as he saw a man kicking the door ineffectively. His X-ray vision was back?
In the dim light of the narrow passageway, backlit by an eerie red glow, Clark could just make out a man with two women huddled close behind him.
“David! Stop!” One of the women shook her head in despair. “Laura's right. There's no way out.”
“But we followed the signs ...”
“So the signs were wrong. We have to go back. Find another way.”
David looked horrified. “We'll be killed if we go back into the fire ...”
“Don't go,” Clark blurted out, shocking the three people inside.
They froze.
“Is someone there?” David finally called. “Can you help us?”
Clark had been studying the pile of rubble. The cement had leaked from the bags and, over time, the rain had turned it into concrete, plugging the door tight. But it shouldn't be impossible for him ... He had once been Superman.
“I think so. Someone's used this place as a dump, and the door is blocked with bricks and concrete, but I think it's possible for me to shift it.” There was no point in letting these people know they were actually sealed inside.
“If you're not sure, you should go get some help,” the younger of the two women sobbed. “Surely there are firemen who can get us out. We heard the sirens.”
“Believe me,” Clark replied, “I tried to get their attention, but for now, it's just me.”
“Then try harder, you idiot!” David shouted angrily, though Clark was sure that fear goaded the man. “We need help! Fast!”
Clark had been watching the interior of the theater as best he could. At the end of the narrow corridor in which the little group stood, tongues of fire were licking at the roof. He guessed it wouldn't be long before the passageway itself was alight. Already smoke was thickening the air and he could hear the trio coughing violently.
“There's no time for that. Look, trust me, I've already cleared some of the stuff away.” Clark had been desperately yanking at the concrete with his bare hands, and amazingly, he was making headway. The seal was cracking.
“Please, hurry,” Laura screamed, her voice cracking on a cough. “The fire is coming.”
For a nanosecond, Clark stared through the door, and what he saw made him double his efforts. Without thinking, he threw the wheelbarrow and spades aside, giving him better access to the door. His hands were working so fast now, his eyes could barely follow them. It was a race between him and the fire. He prayed that he hadn't gambled these people's lives against his need to prove himself.
Yet the exit was free. He squeezed his fingers into the crack between the edge of the door and the frame and heaved with all the strength he had. With a sucking noise, a gap opened up. Clark yanked and three people fell through the door, almost on top of each other.
“Quickly,” Clark instructed, picking them up off the ground, while flaming debris drifted like bright-red feathers in the heated air around them. “Up those stairs, and get as far back from the building as possible. This wall could collapse at any time.”
The leading woman stumbled, threatening to knock them all back down the staircase. Clark swept her up into his arms and climbed as fast as he could without actually flying. He still doubted he was capable of flight, not when he was carrying someone else.
“This way,” he cried, reaching the top of the steps and leading his little group into the parking lot at the rear of the theater until he believed they were safe.
Carefully, he laid the woman down, and through the tears and smoky streaks on her face, he noticed she was a young woman ... a pretty young woman, who was smiling at her rescuer.
“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely. “I'm Laura.” She grabbed hold of his arm for support. “I thought I was going to die.”
“Yeah, me too,” David barked, his hands fisting at his sides. “I was sure we were all goners when I couldn't get that damned door open. Hell, it was supposed to be a fire exit! If you hadn't heard us ... we would have died. I don't know who you are, but thanks ...” It looked that he might say more, but was rendered speechless by the realization of their narrow escape.
Clark was doubled over, his hands resting on his thighs. Now that the rush of the adrenalin had passed, his breaths were coming in shallow gasps. Still, he straightened up and extended his hand. “Clark Kent. I'm a reporter.”
“Oh my God! Your hands!” Laura gasped from her position on the ground.
There was a wailing of new sirens as Clark looked down. His hands were cut and bleeding, his nails torn. He might have been able to tap into his super strength, but, clearly, his invulnerability still hadn't kicked back in. Perhaps that was a good thing, though. An ordinary reporter should have injuries to show for his actions in freeing these people.
“I'm OK,” he answered the three people around him, who were looking concerned. “My hands will heal, and it's a small price to pay for getting you out.” He forced a confident smile on his face and pointed to the fire engines weaving their way between the cars in the lot, followed by a couple of ambulances. “At last, help has arrived. I thought they'd forgotten the back of the building. We should go get you checked out by the paramedics.”
“I think you're the one who needs medical help, Mr. Kent,” Laura said compassionately, but a fit of coughing interrupted her.
“And you have probably swallowed some smoke, which can damage your lungs,” Clark replied, bending to pick her up once more, but she forestalled him and stood on her own. “We should get over to the medics to get you treated.”
“And let them know what happened,” David added, sliding his arm under Laura's. “We're members of the cast and we got separated from the others in the smoke. We thought we were headed for an emergency exit, but I guess we were wrong ...”
“We went down too many floors, David!” The older woman jumped in. “I told you!”
Clark cut in quickly. “Look, it doesn't matter now what you did -- argue over it later. If you think there are still people trapped inside, we need to tell someone, and fast!”
While Clark was speaking, he was training his X-ray vision on the interior of the theater. Thank goodness it was still working, and thank goodness the backstage area seemed empty. He hoped that meant the rest of the cast had escaped by a different route.
“Come on, there's no point in us waiting here.” Actually, Clark wanted to turn his little band of survivors over to the paramedics so he could get back to the building to ensure there were no more casualties.
As the little group started walking toward the emergency teams, they were spotted and, very quickly, were surrounded by firemen and medics, all asking questions.
“Where did you come from?” the man in charge asked.
David quickly recounted the tale of their rescue, with Laura adding her concerns for Clark's health, and Clark found himself led to the back of one of the ambulances, his protests ignored.
“Look, I'm fine. It's just a few scrapes,” he objected as the medic started to treat his injured hands. “I'm sure someone else needs your attention.”
“Everyone will be treated -- including you.” The man had clearly heard what David and Laura had to say, and added, “You might be a hero, but you're not invulnerable like Jor-El.”
Biting his tongue, Clark tried again to break free. “There might still be people left inside ...”
“We know that, and everything is being done to search for them,” the medic said patiently. “If it makes you feel better, it seems Jor-El has got all the people out the front of the building and he's checking for other survivors. The fire department thinks they've got the fire under control, too. They're inside the building, so there's nothing else you can do. If you ask me, you've done enough already.”
Listening to the medic, Clark felt his shoulders loosen. If Matt was on the job, then he could relax. His burst of superpowers was over and he was feeling exhaustion seeping into his body as well as his brain. Had he really rescued those people? These last minutes seemed unreal ... And then David was back, clapping him on the back.
“Clark ... can I call you Clark?” But David rushed on without waiting for an answer. “I just wanted to let you know that they're taking us to the hospital, but they think we're all going to be fine ... thanks to you. Laura wanted me to give you this,” David said with an embarrassed grin as he hugged Clark. “Actually, she asked me to give you a kiss, but I told her I wouldn't go quite that far.”
David's enthusiasm was rousing Clark from his stupor, but it still seemed as if the guy was talking to him from a long way off.
“I have to go too, but we just wanted you to know how grateful we are to you for saving our lives.”
“I'm sure I didn't ...” Clark protested.
“Are you kidding?” David asked with feeling. “I know what you did ... we all do, and we'll be grateful forever.”
Another medic appeared at David's back and he was shepherded away, but not before shouting over his shoulder. “I hope your hands are OK, and come see us in the hospital if you have the time. Oh, and you're a reporter ... we'll save an exclusive interview for you.”
The irrepressible young man's laugh echoed back through the clamor of the fire teams as they finally got the fire under control, and Clark came to sufficiently to wonder if getting an exclusive would avert Lois' inevitable anger.
Just when he'd promised her that he would be careful, he'd gone and risked both his life and his secret ... again.
*****
To Be Continued ....
