Countdown (6 page)

Her sneakers slapped against the pavement. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the punks closing in on her. They whooped and hollered like a pack of hungry wolves, eager to get their hands on their defenseless prey. Madame Xanadu had been wrong about one thing at least; there was nothing at all magical about these creeps.

But that didn’t make them any less dangerous.

A four-story brownstone midway down the block caught her eye. Mary thought she spied a hint of movement somewhere within the silent edifice. She found herself strangely drawn to the building, much as she had felt driven to explore this neighborhood earlier. Desperate for any sort of shelter from the would-be muggers pursuing her, she sprinted up the front steps of the building. Her fists pounded against a pair of heavy wooden doors. “Please, somebody! Let me in!”

To her surprise, the unlocked doors swung open, almost as though something inside had been awaiting her. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she dashed indoors. Her eyes hastily surveyed her surroundings, looking for a friendly face or maybe just a safe place to hide. Lights from outside exposed the lobby of what had obviously once been a very elegant address. Marble columns and floor tiles greeted her eyes. A grand staircase led to a mezzanine overlooking the ground floor. An unlit crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling. The bare walls and floor had been stripped of any expensive furnishings or carpets. Scuff marks recorded the departure of heavy desks or sofas, and cobwebs hung in the place of draperies Thick layers of dust suggested that the brownstone had been abandoned for months at the very least. Her footsteps echoed in the sepulchral silence of the empty lobby. Nothing stirred within the venerable walls, not even a rat or cockroach. The musty air smelled sour and rotten, like something had crawled inside the building to die.

What is this place?
Mary wondered apprehensively. The desolate setting sent a chill down her spine, reminding her of the hidden subway tunnel that had once led to the wizard Shazam’s timeless throne room.
Is this how Billy felt the first time the wizard summoned him?
As her eyes adjusted to the oppressive gloom, she made out more details of the lobby’s interior decor, which seemed to have a distinctly Middle Eastern flavor. Elaborate arabesques 'wound around the marble columns and moldings. Faded mosaic tiles, embedded in the walls, depicted the gods of ancient Egypt. Arcane hieroglyphics, inscribed throughout the chamber, made the forlorn lobby feel like the tomb of some forgotten pharaoh. Mary frowned; not too long ago, the wisdom of Solomon would have allowed her to read the hieroglyphics with ease, but now they might as well have been written in Kryptonian. She was certain that she had never set foot in this building before, yet somehow the place felt oddly familiar... .

Her pursuers gave her little time to ponder the mystery, barging into the lobby after her. “Hope you’re not lookin’ for a phone in here, baby,” the leader of the hoodlums said with a sneer. Serpentine tattoos coiled atop his shaved skull. Metal studs and rings pierced his eyelids, ears, and lips. Death-metal decals plastered his scuffed leather jacket. A tarnished steel swastika hung on a chain around his neck. Steel-toed boots stamped across the marble floor. “ ’Cause this dump ain’t had water or power or nothing since them ragheads moved out!”

Mary backed away from the snickering hoodlums. “Shazam,” she whispered uselessly. Her fists clenched at her sides.
If I just had my powers back,
she lamented,
I’d teach these creeps a lesson they’d never forget.
She hated feeling so scared and helpless.
Mary Marvel would make short work of these losers.

But she wasn’t Mary Marvel. Not anymore.

Salvation came instead from an entirely different quarter.

“Ragheads?”
a deep voice sounded from above. “I detest that term.”

All eyes turned upward toward the mezzanine, which remained cloaked in shadow.
Who?
Mary thought. For a moment, she thought that maybe Batman had come to her rescue—this was Gotham City after all—but the voice’s distinct Middle Eastern accent reminded her of someone else instead.
Oh no,
she realized in horror.
Not
him!

A pair of powerful hands grabbed on to the skin-hea'd’s shoulders, yanking him off his feet. The startled punk yelped in surprise as he dangled several feet above the floor. Wet, rending noises cut off his cries as he was literally ripped into pieces by his unseen assailant. Blood splattered the walls. The mugger flew apart in more pieces than Mary could count. She gagged as a bloody fragment landed at her feet. Severed limbs hit the floor. A head rolled down the stairs. Intestines snagged on the chandelier. If she could have afforded to eat today, she would’ve lost her lunch for sure.

Horrified by their comrade’s grisly demise, the remaining skinheads fled the building as fast as their rubbery legs could carry them. Mary instinctively ran in the opposite direction, toward the back of the lobby. Maybe there was a rear exit or something? She only got a few feet, however, before she tripped over something lying in her path.

Or someone.

Tumbling onto the floor, she reached out to break her fall. Her fingers grabbed on to something dry and withered. Teeth rattled beneath her hand, and she felt the bony outline of a skull beneath her palm. Her fingernails poked through brittle, parchment-like skin.
“Aaach!”
She yanked her hand back as she instantly grasped that she was touching a dead body. She rolled away from the corpse, only to bump into another body just a few inches away. Her eyes widened in horror as she scrambled away from yet more bodies, which seemed to be all around her. Almost a dozen corpses, in various states of decay, were strewn about the floor. Missing limbs, broken necks, and large brown bloodstains testified to the extreme violence that had ended the victims’ lives. The smell of rotting flesh filled Mary’s mouth and lungs. Desiccated faces held expressions of unimaginable horror, and mice had gnawed on the sundered remains. A spider emerged from a vacant eye socket.

“Who ... ?” Her appalled gaze darted from body to body, each more mutilated than the one before. Random limbs were scattered like puzzle pieces. “Who
are
they... ?”

“Drug addicts, squatters, real estate agents.” The dour voice conveyed equal quantities of scorn for all of the above. Mary glimpsed a shadowy figure perched on the balustrade running along the edge of the mezzanine. “People stupid enough to intrude upon my solitude.” A snarl distorted his voice. “People like you.”

Defying gravity, the figure hurled himself off the balcony and swooped down toward Mary. A shaft of light from an upstairs window exposed one of the world’s most wanted fugitives: the genocidal super-man known as Black Adam.

There was no mistaking him. A powerfully built Arab man, he wore a tight black uniform that contrasted sharply with his golden boots, sash, and wristbands. Sleek black hair met in a widow’s peak above his saturnine features. The golden thunderbolt emblazoned on his chest matched those worn by Captain Marvel and the rest of the Marvel Family, including, not so long ago, Mary herself. Indeed, Teth-Adam had been the wizard Shazam’s original champion, back in the days of the pharaohs, until anger and ambition overcame his soul, transforming the heroic Mighty

Adam into the dreaded Black Adam. Fresh blood dripped from his bare hands.

Those gore-stained hands came at Mary, eager to throttle the life from her.

“Adam! Wait!” She jumped to her feet. “It’s me, Mary Batson!”

Her frantic cry got his attention. Pausing in midlunge, he touched down onto the floor and scrutinized the cowering girl before him. A cruel smile lifted the comers of his lips as he recognized Mary’s mortal incarnation.

“Well, then,” he said darkly. “Perhaps this day is not a total loss.”

Mary shuddered. The last time she had encountered Black Adam, during his rampage three months ago, his titanic blow had put her into a coma from which she had only just awakened. He was the last person she wanted to face right now, especially with her powers missing. She was all too aware that he could tear her apart as easily as he’d killed all these other people.

“You seem afraid to see me, Mary,” he observed.

“Well, y-yesShe realized now that this abandoned building must have formerly been the Kahndaqi consulate. Until recently, Black Adam had been the unquestioned ruler of that small Middle Eastern nation. No wonder this place had felt familiar. It reminded her of Adam’s sumptuous palace in Kahndaq. “These bodies ... the horrors you’ve committed ...”

There had been a time, only a year ago, when it had seemed that Black Adam had reformed. His marriage to the beautiful Egyptian heroine Isis had softened his heart and quelled the murderous fury that had consumed him for over three thousand years. Along with her younger brother, Osiris, Adam and Isis had employed their supernatural powers for the betterment of Kahndaq. Mighty Adam had become his people’s champion once more. But when nefarious foes struck back at Adam, killing both Isis and Osiris, the old Black Adam had returned with a vengeance, lashing out at the world. It had taken the com-
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47

bined efforts of Captain Marvel and the entire Justice Society to stop him. Eluding capture, he had been in hiding ever since.

“Horrors?” He angrily smashed his fist into a nearby column. Shards of shattered marble went flying. “The world stole my homeland and my family from me! You dare to judge me!” Rumor had it that Black Adam had been magically stripped of his powers, but apparently that was no longer the case. He gestured savagely at the corpses on the floor. “These others paid the price for disturbing me. That you too have worn the lightning bolt across your chest will not spare you their fate!”

He stalked toward her, his dark eyes gleaming balefully. “Teth-Adam ... wait!” Mary pleaded. “I found you by accident, I swear! I haven’t come to judge you....” She swallowed hard as a disturbing possibility occurred to her.’ “I think, maybe, I was
sent
here somehow ... for your help?”

“Help?” The sheer absurdity of her request gave Black Adam pause. He eyed her warily, as though suspecting that this might be a trick of some kind. “Where is your brother if you need help? Where is the noble Captain Marvel?”

“I don’t know!” Mary confessed. “I’ve been looking for him everywhere.” She figured she had nothing to lose by telling the truth. Besides, if Black Adam had somehow regained his powers, wasn’t it possible that he might know how to restore hers as well? “When I was drawn here, part of me hoped that it was Billy calling me, but maybe ... I mean, we’re the same right now, abandoned, alone, scared. Well, I am anyway.” She chose her words carefully, not wanting to provoke the hot-tempered fugitive. “But, Adam, you’re still connected to the magic. You’re not helpless. Your powers make you strong....”

“My powers?” Black Adam surprised Mary by laughing out loud. Gales of bitter hilarity poured out of him, causing
him
to quake from head to toe. Tears leaked from his eyes. “My powers ...
hah!”

Mary didn’t get it. “Uh, did I say something funny?” The immortal villain struggled to bring his laughter under control. “When I think of what my power has brought me ..He wiped a tear from his eye as his voice assumed a more somber tone. “No, that is not correct. When I think of what my power has
cost
me...”

Had he lost his mind, or just all hope of happiness? “They’re not a curse,” Mary insisted. “They’re a gift!” Even after everything that had happened to him, she couldn’t believe that Black Adam didn’t appreciate having his powers back. She would have traded places with him in a second. “I wish—”

“You wish?” he interrupted her. He seemed intrigued by her reaction. All traces of his unsettling hysterics vanished as he regarded her with a speculative expression upon his regal face. He stood astride the bodies of his victims like Anubis, the ancient Egyptian god of the underworld. “Make no mistake. Just as these unwary fools asked for death by coming here, so do you risk it by beseeching my aid.”

Trembling, Mary stood her ground. “I don’t want to die, but I can’t live like this anymore.” She remembered how terrified she had been when the muggers were chasing her; she never wanted to feel that weak and powerless again. “Please! I just want my old life back!”

“I fear that’s impossible, Mary.” Black Adam stepped forward and laid his palm upon her brow. He could have crushed her skull like an eggshell, but instead he spoke like a judge imposing a death sentence. “But I can ease your loneliness ... with the company of the gods.” He peered down at Mary’s anguished face. Hot tears streaked her cheeks. She wrung her hands. “Is this truly what you seek?”    "

Mary nodded.

“So be it,” he declared. “Shazam!”

Thunder boomed inside the deserted consulate. A bolt of eldritch lightning lit up the darkened interior, striking the floor of the lobby with explosive force. A mystical shock wave drove Adam and Mary apart, even as the crystal chandelier crashed to the floor. Billowing clouds of dust and smoke filled the air, obscuring Mary’s vision, but she barely noticed the haze at first. Something far more compelling was taking place inside her.

As fast as lightning, supernatural energy coursed through her body. An ecstatic convulsion left her gasping. It was like the charge she had always felt when transforming into Mary Marvel, and yet strangely different somehow. More potent, more primal... almost intoxicating. The voices of ancient deities whispered seductively inside her skull. Her skin tingled with divine electricity. Closing her eyes, she luxuriated in the sheer euphoria of the moment. So overpowering was the sensation that it took her a second or two to realize that she was now floating several inches above the floor.

Holy Moley!
she thought breathlessly.
I feel
incredible! A rasping cough intruded on her rapture. Glancing down, she saw that Adam was pinned beneath the fallen chandelier. A few minutes ago, he could have easily tossed the massive conglomeration of crystals aside, but now he strained futilely to lift the wrecked chandelier off his trapped torso. He grunted between coughs, exerting all his might, but the glittering debris stubbornly refused to budge. His flushed face was scratched and bleeding.