Hulk, Peter David [best ereader for academics .TXT] 📗

cleared to fire on the target, Legend,” said Ross. “Let me worry about collateral damage.” And he knew it was indeed his worry; he’d likely be drummed out of the military for it. He had no illusions on that score. American citizens like their military maneuvers nice and tidy and devoid of casualties . . . particularly civilian casualties, and most particularly American civilians. In addition to signing the death warrants of the citizens, he was signing the death warrant of his own career, as well. He was looking at court-martial, loss of rank, possibly even jail time. Because the howl would come for somebody’s head, and as the president had pointed out, it was an election year. Ross just never suspected he was going to be the one who got elected.

“T-bolt, Legend Dash one, roger. All units are weapons hot,” said the F-22 pilot.

Ross’s face was grim. It then occurred to him that there was one weapon he had not yet employed, and although it killed him to admit it, it was possibly the only one that might prevent widespread damage.

“Take us to Tactical Base West,” Ross abruptly ordered.

The pilot glanced back at Ross to confirm what he’d just heard. Ross nodded without repeating it and, with a small shrug, the pilot did as he was ordered.

A cable car rang its bell and moved toward Market Street. No one on the car, or anywhere nearby, expected this to be anything other than an ordinary day, despite the odd military maneuvers some of them had spotted occurring near the Golden Gate Bridge. There had been rumors flying around of some sort of monster traipsing around atop the bridge, but the general thought was that it was some kind of hoax that had probably originated on the Internet, as so many things seemed to these days.

Nobody saw the small crack in the street that followed the cable car’s path, almost as if the cable car was leaving it in its wake. And then other cracks began to radiate outward, widening, becoming bigger, heaving upward.

Pedestrians started to notice and jump out of the way, and naturally the first thing that occurred to them was earthquake, except there seem to be no rumbling or shifting beneath their feet. Cracks were just starting to appear everywhere, for no discernible reason.

Water mains began to break. At each fire hydrant the caps flew off and water blasted out in all directions, soaking anyone standing nearby and making it even harder for passersby to stay on their feet as the sidewalks became slick. Cars were blasted as well, sent careering into one another, either from the direct impact of the spray or else from trying to get clear of the geysers that seemed to have unexpectedly turned up everywhere.

San Francisco was officially under siege. It was just that no one realized it yet.

found again

Betty Ross sprinted toward the tarmac as her father’s Black Hawk settled down. The side door slid open and she saw his face as he gestured for her to clamber aboard.

She had been more stunned than she’d thought possible when the call had come in that he was picking her up. It couldn’t have been an easy decision for her dad to make. Obviously he felt that whatever input she might have to make regarding Bruce was of such importance that it necessitated her being brought into the conflict. On the other hand, normally his overwhelming impulse was to keep her safe. He had proven that time and again whether by assigning guards to her or ordering her off Desert Base. So bringing her in now was completely against his nature, which indicated to Betty just how desperate he must be.

She clambered aboard and the chopper pilot barely waited for the door to slam behind her before he took off. Without having to be told, Betty slapped a pair of earphones on her head so she could speak to her father, since the pounding noise within the Black Hawk made communication without such a device almost impossible.

“Dad,” she said with a brisk inclination of her head.

For just a moment, a look of helplessness flickered across his face, to be replaced just as quickly by grim frustration. “Betty, I don’t know what choice I have,” Ross said. “I have to destroy him.”

She shook her head vigorously. “You can’t. Enraging him only makes him stronger. And you’ll destroy San Francisco in the process.”

He nodded grimly, and she realized she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. That was really the reason she was here: because the situation seemed hopeless, and he didn’t know where else to turn. He was like a macho redneck, lost on the interstate, sucking it up and stopping to ask directions. It would have been kind of sweet in a way, if the stakes hadn’t been so high.

“There’s only one way to stop him: Give him some breathing room,” said Betty.

Ross pondered that, and she knew exactly what he was thinking: He could give the Hulk breathing room, sure, but how much breathing room was the Hulk going to give San Francisco?

. . . wet . . . stupid, more water, more water, hate more water, can’t smash water hate stupid, dark, dark, smells . . .

With each step through the storm drains, the Hulk pushed up with his elbows. He wasn’t doing it to wreak havoc on San Francisco, although that’s what was occurring. He was just doing it to make more room for himself.

Finally he came to a juncture point and looked up in surprise when he saw daylight filtering through a manhole cover. He clambered upward, not pulling himself up on the ladder, but rather simply pushing himself toward the surface with the power of his hands braced against either side of the vertical tunnel.

He poked his head through the manhole cover and squinted against the light of day. With a low growl he climbed out of the sewer, reeking,