Spiderman 1 (51 page)

She took a step backward, and suddenly, for no reason
she could understand, she felt as if she were overbalanced.
Instinctively she windmilled her arms, yanked herself for
ward with considerable upper body effort, and looked down.
She gasped as, hundreds of feet below her, headlights
from cars became visible as unknowing drivers crossed the span of the Queensboro Bridge.

Years ago, the songwriting team of Simon and Garfunkel
had been stuck in traffic on the selfsame bridge, and had
used the opportunity to pen a song called "Feelin' Groovy."
Mary Jane had always liked that song.

At that moment it plummeted to the bottom of her list,
and only by falling to her knees did she avoid plummeting,
as well, off what she now realized was the western tower of the bridge.

I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind, it's some sort of
dream, everything's going to be okay,
she kept telling herself, right up until the point that a familiar whine of an en
gine informed her that she was a damned sight far away
from being "okay."

The Green Goblin arced past her, turbos roaring, and he tossed off a delirious little wave before angling away. But
this wasn't just a flyby; he was heading somewhere, with a
purpose. She watched him as he angled toward the Roo
sevelt Island tram station, leaving a trail of smoke behind him across the night sky as he headed down, down, toward a red tram that was halfway to the station. It was the cable
car that carried passengers from Manhattan to the many
apartment complexes on Roosevelt Island, there in the mid
dle of the East River. Even from where she was, on her
hands and knees, she could see that it was crammed with
kids. The kids and their fathers were pointing at the armored green creature that was zipping toward them, an
amber angel of death. She was too far away to hear what
they were saying. Were they screaming? Laughing? Yelling
at him to stay away?

And that was when a rocket launcher exploded to life
from beneath the glider, hurling a missile toward the station.
An instant later, the rocket barreled into the tram station, obliterating it in a massive ball of flame and smoke. Huge chunks of debris rained down onto the roadway below her.
Cars screeched to a halt, many crashing into one another

as the flaming chunks of the station plummeted from the
night sky like death-laden stars.

Even from where she was, Mary Jane could feel the heat
rolling over her, and she knew that all the prayers in the
world weren't going to transform this experience into a sim
ple nightmare. She wouldn't be waking up. This was real,
this was happening, and those kids and their dads in the gon
dola were going to die, and she was going to die, and there
was nothing, nothing that anyone could possibly do about it.

And then, in the glow of the fireball that lit up the night like
a newly risen sun, she saw the familiar outline of a blue-and-
red masked figure, crouched on a rooftop in the distance.

Her heart raced, and she was astounded that the first thing
to go through her mind was a mental plea to the costumed
hero:
Get away from here . . .
 
save yourself . . .

Funny
 
. . .
 
she'd never thought of herself as selfless be
fore
 
. . .

Too late. You 're too late again
 
. . .

Watching the carnage from behind the reflective eyes of his mask, Peter pushed that thinking far, far away. He didn't need to be bogged down by tons of guilt. Instead he fired a
web line that hit one of the cables on the bridge, and arced toward the span as fast as he could.

It wasn't fast enough.

The sound of the first cables snapping was truly horrify
ing. A whip crack, the cries of terrified children, and suddenly the gondola was dropping like a stone, plummeting
toward the water below. There was no way that Spider-Man
could possibly get to it in time.

His entire focus was on the tram, even as he reached
midswing, so he was startled and confused when he saw the
car jerk to a halt. He thought it was a miracle.

He thought wrong.

Mary Jane couldn't believe it.

Just as the cable car had begun its plummet, the crazed monster that had condemned the tram and its passengers to
death swooped down and snagged the trailing wire. The car
stopped in midair, dangling from the cables, as the Green
Goblin—displaying strength she could only imagine—
soared upward effortlessly while holding on to the cable.

She could hear the children crying in terror, hear the fathers shouting to them that everything was going to be all
right, in that way parents had when they were lying through
their teeth as loudly as possible.

And suddenly the Goblin was there, right up on the
bridge with her, and he wrapped one of his cold, armored
hands around her. She tried to push him away, but a hand
that was capable of supporting a cable car wasn't going to
have a great deal of difficulty restraining a struggling
eighteen-year-old. In the other hand, he still gripped the
cable that was the only thing supporting the tram.

"Spider-Man!" he bellowed from behind his distorted
mask, and that was when Mary Jane spotted the wallcrawler
again. He had just landed on one of the suspender cables and
was now in the process of clambering up toward the main
cable that led to the tower. He backflipped upward as if grav
ity were a concept that didn't apply him, and landed on the main cable. But froze when the Goblin spoke.

"This is why only fools are heroes!" called the Goblin.
"Because you never know when some lunatic will come
along with a sadistic choice."

Mary Jane's frozen mind couldn't even grasp what he
meant, but then she understood as the Goblin shoved her for
ward. Her toes went over the edge, and she almost lost her
balance. Hundreds of feet below, cars were still trying to
cope with the fallen debris. Within moments they might well
be driving around the small bits of whatever was left of her,
as well.

And all the fear she'd ever felt at her father's hands, all the
abuse she had endured, that had made her feel small and
worthless and unworthy to live, abruptly fell into proper per
spective. The Green Goblin set a new gold standard for
angst.

Perched atop the main cable of the bridge, Peter had
never been happier that he was wearing a mask, because he
never would have wanted the Goblin to see the expression of
pure horror on his face as the lunatic crowed," . . .
 
you never know when some lunatic will come along with a sadistic
choice! Let die the woman you love
 
. . . "

Don't say that, you idiot! She'll figure it out, if she hasn't
already . . . !

And then the Goblin's right hand, the one holding the
cable, abruptly relaxed. The cable snaked through his gloved
hand, the tram dropped with sickening speed, the children
screamed, and then in an instant, the tram halted again in its
plummet, as the Goblin's hand tightened once more.

" . . .
 
or suffer the little children," the Goblin continued,
sounding almost conversational. It was as if they were sitting
on a couple of bar stools, knocking back brews and dis
cussing the latest scores. And it was at that point that Spider-
Man realized how little it mattered whether or not M. J.
knew his identity. Lord, first the Goblin had quoted Cummings
 
. . .
 
and now he was quoting Jesus.

Peter had no intention of allowing a tram full of innocents
to enter the Kingdom of Heaven before their time
 
. . .
 
but
Mary Jane, the girl he'd loved for years
 
. . .
 
And they were
strangers, he'd hear their screams in his head at night, yes,
but at least M. J. would be curled up next to him . . .
 
But
there were, what, eleven, a dozen of them, one of her, one
life against a dozen
 
. . .

"Make your choice, Spider-Man!" howled the Goblin,

"and see how a hero is rewarded! This is your doing! You
have caused this!
This is the life you have chosen! Choose!"

Peter looked left, right, left, and right again
 
. . .

 
. . .
 
and the Goblin released them both.

Insanely, the only thought that managed to penetrate
M.J.'s frozen brain at that moment was that she never got to
tell off her father.

She plummeted, arms and legs pinwheeling, and sud
denly Spider-Man was right there, tucking her under his
right arm.

"Hold on!" he shouted, even as he fired a web line that snagged the underside of the bridge's center span, and Mary
Jane thought giddily,
He chose me!
right before she was over
whelmed with guilt over the fate of the plunging cable car.

But Spider-Man wasn't done, not remotely.

Suddenly he released his web line, and there was the
cable of the car whipping past them. She could barely see it, but Spider-Man homed in on it as if he had radar. He shifted
Mary Jane onto his back even as he grabbed the trailing
cable. She let out a scream as the two of them were yanked down, hard, hopelessly at the mercy of the tram's weight.

Then Spider-Man fired another web line at the underside
of the bridge, and the white substance snared it, sticking
with unbreakable adhesion. There below the span, the gon
dola slammed to a halt, bouncing up and down, kids and
dads tumbling everywhere.

Mary Jane heard faint cheers floating down toward them.
People were gathering along the Queensboro Bridge, all
traffic having come to a halt due to the debris. Applause, shouts of encouragement, it was all very sweet, really, to
witness such a gratifying show of public support.

But none of it meant a damn, really, because Spider-Man
was hanging suspended in midair, his right hand clutching

the cable line, his left hand clutching the web line. Mary
Jane was hanging on his back, and every muscle in his body
had to be screaming from the strain.