Halloween Special #1

"Righty-o, everyone got a lager?" Digger Harkness, also known as Captain Boomerang, asked as he looked around at the three women standing close by. The first woman was dressed in a sexy devil costume, including black stiletto heels and black fishnet stockings, a red miniskirt and red vest, and sparkly red horns rising from her upswept brown hair. The second, a blonde young enough to practically qualify as a girl, was wearing only a string bikini, orange fabric with green ties, barely large enough to accommodate the jack-o-lantern eyes and grin emblazoned on them, or the girl’s considerable endowments beneath. The third woman was Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. The brunette in the devil costume was smiling knowingly and holding a single bottle of beer, and the blonde in the pumpkin-colored bikini was in mid-laugh and holding a six pack of bottles in each hand, but Elvira’s pale, empty hands rested on her curvaceous black-swathed hips.

"None for you, eh, Elvira?" Captain Boomerang shrugged. He raised his own beer in a toast and took a swig. "More for us, then, eh girls?"

"Boomerbutt, what the hell are you doing?" a voice demanded from the doorway of the cell. Captain Boomerang spun around and Elvira fell down, knocked over by the snapping of Boomerang’s long white scarf over his shoulder. Like the other two women in Boomerang’s Belle Reve Penitentiary holding cell, Elvira was a life-sized cardboard cut-out from a supermarket beer display.

Standing at the entrance to the cell was Amanda Waller, nearly filling the doorframe from side to side while only barely passing the halfway point of the doorway’s height. She wore a muted blue skirt and jacket over a cream-colored blouse, her hair tied back in a severe bun, and an expression of angry disgust on her face, every bit the opposite of the beer advertisements surrounding Boomerang. Behind her, his unshaven, bored face visible above her right shoulder, stood Floyd Lawton, the assassin Deadshot.

"G’day, Amanda," Boomerang smiled crookedly. "Welcome to me little Halloween party! What are you supposed to be, then ... insurance saleswoman?"

Waller ignored the question and posed one of her own. "Where did these ... decorations ... come from?"

"Got one of the guards to bring ‘em in," Boomerang answered nonchalantly. "His brother owns a Market Basket over in Houma, he does."

"You had better not be drunk, Harkness," Waller glowered. "We’re headed down to the mission briefing room pronto. Leave the beer."

"All right, all right," Boomerang agreed, setting his bottle down on the floor of the cell. He threw his arm around the blonde cardboard girl and asked, "Can I bring one o’ me friends along? She really brightens up a room."

"Lawton," Waller said as she turned to leave. Deadshot raised his wrist-magnum and fired before the first click of Waller’s heels echoed in the corridor, blowing the top half of the blonde’s cut-out head off.

"Bugger!" Captain Boomerang grimaced, before sullenly following Deadshot and Waller out of the cell and down the hall.

"This is Esqueleto Base," Waller informed the room, as a projector shone an image partially onto her and mainly onto the screen directly behind her. The image showed aerial photographs of what looked like a military installation in the middle of the desert, a few low-lying brick buildings interrupting flat gray slabs of concrete surrounded by high, razor-wire topped fences. "It’s been abandoned for some time," Waller went on, "but we have reason to believe that some person or persons may be making use of its facilities. Signs of activity within the base are on the rise, although the trespassers have yet to be caught."

"So we’re going from whatever inept rent-a-cop service patrols an abandoned dump, straight to us?" Deadshot rolled his eyes. "Overkill much?"

"The work that was done at Esqueleto Base was extremely sensitive, Lawton," Waller snapped back. "I wouldn’t be sending in the Squad without damn good reason."

In addition to Deadshot and Captain Boomerang, the briefing was attended by the other members of the covert Suicide Squad. Rick Flag sat near the front of the room, his rigid soldierly posture a stark contrast to Deadshot’s disheveled slouch. Beside Flag sat Eve Eden, whose pale complexion and long dark hair were reminiscent of Elvira, although the similarities ended there, as her purple Nightshade costume covered every inch of her body from her neck to her toes, and her pink sunglasses obscured only part of a deathly serious expression. A few rows back, near the sulking Captain Boomerang, sat June Moone, relaxed and self-assured in her green tunic and matching conical witch’s hat befitting her codename as the Enchantress. In the rearmost row of the theater-style room sat Ben Turner, the Bronze Tiger, his striped namesake mask resting on one orange-clad knee.

It was Bronze Tiger who spoke next. "Anything else we need to know before we leave?"

"Just that there’s another member of the team being added for this mission," Waller answered. As if on cue, the door of the briefing room opened and two prison guards escorted in a tall, muscular man with a shaved bald head. The prisoner wore blue jeans, work boots and a white tank top with a large red letter D across the chest. "Squad, this is A.J. Coleman, but in the field he calls himself the Demolisher. He’ll be an asset in making sure that nothing at Esqueleto Base falls into the wrong hands."

"If you say so, Waller," Flag said, standing up. "All right, people, let’s go."

The moon was an orange sickle blade suspended in the autumn night sky as the stealthy black helicopter affectionately referred to as Bathsheba settled onto the hardpan of the desert. The Suicide Squad disembarked, with A.J. Coleman jumping out last, carrying a massive wooden crate which he dropped on the scorched earth.

"Why do I feel as though I’ve seen you somewhere before, mate?" Captain Boomerang asked as Coleman opened the crate and bent to remove objects from its interior.

"You ain’t seen me nowhere, long as you been in jail," Coleman grunted. He pulled a heavy jackhammer, its steel casing painted bright yellow, out of the crate and fitted its upper housing around his left hand like a glove. "Maybe you’ve seen my Demolition Team gear."

"Demoliton Team?" Boomerang repeated, as Demolisher donned a bright yellow riveted steel harness similar to a football player’s shoulder pads. "Blokes who fought the Green Lantern a ways back?"

"That’s right," Demolisher said, fastening a massive yellow helmet to the harness, enclosing nearly his entire head and leaving only a small T-shape of his face visible.

"Bunch of flamin’ drongos to take after, wouldn’t you say?" the Australian smirked, balancing a white boomerang on a single fingertip.

Demolisher ignored him as he held up the last piece of equipment in the crate, a scoopshovel gauntlet for his right hand. "This won’t fit," Demolisher complained, twisting his forearm back and forth to demonstrate the bulky explosive bracelet attached to his right wrist.

"I’m afraid that’s just part of your new team uniform, darling," the Enchantress mock-sympathized, showing off her own electronic shackle. "No exceptions."

"Actually, you’ll find it’s been modified to fit," Flag noted dispassionately. "Waller will have seen to that."

Demolisher inserted his right arm into the bright yellow tool, discovering it was in fact wider than when he had last used it and able to accommodate the bracelet. He followed as the Suicide Squad moved away from Bathsheba and toward Esqueleto Base. When the seven figures reached the locked gates in the fence, Demolisher asked, "So, should I tear these down?"

"Let’s not announce ourselves quite so loudly, yet," Flag countered. "Eve?"

Nightshade stepped forward with hands outstretched and called forth a portal of impenetrable blackness. The members of the Suicide Squad stepped through and emerged from an identical portal inside the base perimeter.

Deadshot’s head swiveled from side to side. The unkempt black hair, stubbled cheeks and ragged mustache, and perpetually disaffected expression were gone, replaced by the sleek silver mask that enshrouded his entire head, interrupted only by the single red-lensed eyepiece etched with yellow crosshairs. "Looks like nobody’s home," the assassin observed.

"Or they don’t want to be found. Come on," Flag insisted, leading the Squad toward the largest of the buildings on the base. Boomerang, Deadshot, the Enchantress, Nightshade and Demolisher fell in behind him, with Bronze Tiger vigilantly bringing up the rear. They passed several outlying buildings with broken windows, conewebs woven by desert bush spiders in the corners of their doorframes, but saw no signs of other humans; no footprints, no discarded trash. The base appeared lifeless.

The heavy front door of the main building swung open with no resistance except for a dry, scraping creak of its hinges. Flag felt along the wall for a lightswitch, and clicked it several times without effect. The Squad moved in slowly, trying to make out details in the darkness. The area near the door resembled a small office with no walls, simply a desk, a rolling chair, and a single file cabinet. Beyond those pieces, the building was an open area resembling a garage, full of heavy tools and pneumatic lifts in separate bays throughout, with large, dark oil and grease stains that had permeated the floors.

The door of the building slammed shut, and the bang echoed through the darkness which was now absolute. The members of the Suicide Squad tensed instinctively, but the silence following the slamming of the door persisted. Ultimately the Enchantress produced a small glowing ball of light between her hands, which cast eerie shadows in all directions.

"Whoever threw the door shut, it wasn’t one of us," Flag said in a low, steady voice.

"But did they close it form outside?" Nightshade whispered. "Or are they in here with us?"

Flag’s answer was to draw his sidearm from its shoulder holster and motion for his teammates to fan out. Nightshade followed Flag deeper into the garage area, while Deadshot and Boomerang moved to the left and Bronze Tiger and the Enchantress went right.

Demolisher took a few tentative steps forward, the stopped as the sound of a motor roaring to life emanated from a nearby bay. Before he could turn his bulky, armored upper half toward the noise, a small shape was flying at him, and an instant later the shape began to belch fire.

Demolisher dropped to one knee and lowered his head, offering the solid top of his hardhat to the gout of flame. At the same time, Deadshot and Boomerang reacted with counterattacks. Deadshot’s wrist magnum barked once, and the bullet slashed open the fuel line feeding the flamethrower. A spinning boomerang followed, struck the underside of the flying shape, and exploded. The object was knocked out of the air and clattered to the floor.

"The hell was that?" Demolisher demanded, rising slowly to his feet again.

"Looks like some kind of prototype drone," Bronze Tiger responded, crouching beside the disabled flying weapon. Its metallic chassis had been twisted by the explosion, but was still somewhat recognizable. It seemed to be modeled on the shape of a dragon, although it was no more than a foot and a half in length, with scalloped wings, a scaled neck and a reptilian head, jaws opened wide to reveal the nozzle of the flamethrower. "Must be part of that ‘sensitive information’ Waller was referring to earlier."

"Is it a booby-trap?" Nightshade asked. "Something left behind to attack anyone who came in here?"

"Doubt it," Deadshot dismissed the idea. "Someone sicced this thing on our newbie."

"All right, who’s there?" Demolisher demanded loudly, his voice echoing through the mechanic bays. He turned in place, peering into the shadowy corners. His eyes grew wider within the slit of his yellow helmet, until finally he cried out in wordless frustration. From a small barrel protruding from the chestplate of his harness, iron rivets shot out and pinged off the exposed support columns several yards away, raising tiny spark flashes on impact.

"Dammit, Coleman!" Rick Flag snapped. "If you do anything like that again without a direct order from me, I will have Deadshot put a bullet in your spine, in the exact spot that leaves you paralyzed but in excruciating pain! Is that clear?"

Demolisher was breathing heavily and almost seemed not to hear Flag, but after a few tense seconds he nodded at the Suicide Squad’s field leader. Then another mechanized drone leapt out of the darkness toward the clustered Squad, this one modeled on a mythical hydra. It landed on four clawed robotic legs, supporting a compact body with nine serpentine necks, each one terminating in a stylized machine gun head. A hail of auto-rounds strafed the area where the Squad stood.

Bronze Tiger vaulted acrobatically to one side as Nightshade disappeared through an ebon portal. Rick Flag threw himself to his stomach, squeezing off round after round from his M9 pistol, which Deadshot fell to his side with his wrist magnum blazing; the metallic hydra’s armor plating was more than able to withstand the return fire. A bullet slammed into Flag’s shoulder, and he rolled away clutching the bloody wound with his left hand. Captain Boomerang ran in the opposite direction of the drone, while Demolisher was frozen in place with terror.

The Enchantress rose into the air with a look of rapture on her face and her long black tresses fluttering around her shoulders. She pointed a single finger, tipped with a blood-red nail, at the bullet-spewing hydra, and a jagged bolt of electricity slashed down at the drone. The metal frame was momentarily engulfed in a crackling aura of blinding white, and then was still, smoking and partially melted.

The Enchantress began to laugh, when more shapes emerged from the darkness, insubstantial and faintly luminous. Like tendrils of glowing, pale blue smoke they rose from all corners of the building, converging on the Enchantress and then coalescing into humanoid shapes. The Enchantress could barely make out human faces and human hands, although the hands were gnarled into twisted claws and the faces were dominated by opaque, dead eyes, and then she was overwhelmed. She screamed as the apparitions engulfed her and dragged her down to the garage floor, her body convulsing as it fell. When the Enchantress struck the grimy concrete, the hazy whirl of shapes began to fly pell-mell around the building, creating a ghastly tornado all around the Suicide Squad.

Demolisher knelt tentatively beside the Enchantress, cradling her awkwardly in his arms as best he could manage with power tools completely covering his hands. "What’s happening?" he asked in an awed, nearly trembling voice.

"Ghosts," the Enchantress answered weakly.

Across the garage, Nightshade and Bronze Tiger huddled near one of the hydraulic lifts. "What are they doing here?" Nightshade asked. "What do they want?" A spectral figure divebombed her from overhead, but Nightshade summoned up shadowy tentacles to bar the ghost’s path, and the spirit turned away with a howl.

"What do ghosts ever want?" Bronze Tiger retorted. He ran his fingertips through one of the sticky patches indelibly marking the floor, then held them up close to his face. "This isn’t oil. It’s blood. There was some kind of massacre here."

"There’s gonna be another bloody massacre if we don’t piss off!" Captain Boomerang called out from behind two rusting oil drums.

"He’s got a point," Deadshot agreed. His fingers twitched with the urge to pepper the maelstrom of ghosts with ammunition, but the assassin held his fire, knowing it would be a futile gesture.

"This mission’s over," Bronze Tiger announced, assuming command as he ascertained that Rick Flag was nearly unconscious due to blood loss. "Everybody out and back to the chopper! Deadshot, you’ll have to carry Flag."

Deadshot cocked his head, and despite the blankness of his mask seemed to be silently asking Bronze Tiger if he were joking. But the swift martial artist was already bolting towards the Enchantress and Demolisher, as Nightshade and Captain Boomerang hurtled toward the exit. Deadshot rushed to Flag, hoisted him over his shoulder, and sprinted for the door.

The whooshing vortex of ghosts accelerated, and stray apparitions darted in and out of the luminous miasma, but Bronze Tiger ignored their howls. He laid a hand on Demolisher’s shoulder and asked, "Does she need to be carried out?"

Demolisher ignored him, focused intently on the Enchantress. "Ain’t ... ain’t there nothing we can do?" he asked.

The Enchantress’s eyelids fluttered as she fought to regain her senses. "This building ... is haunted too deeply ... the unquiet spirits ... attached to the site of their deaths ..."

"Attached ... to the building?" Demolisher repeated. He lowered her to the floor and got back to his feet. "Attached to the building! Let’s see how they like being attached to rubble!" He ran at one of the support columns, swinging his heavy yellow scoopshovel over his head. The gauntlet-tool struck the column with tremendous force, warping the beam. Demolisher screamed with a mixture of terror and triumph and drove his opposite hand straight down, the jackhammer tearing widening fissures through the stained garage floor. The swirl of ghosts regrouped and reoriented themselves on Demolisher, who continued to lash out at the floor, the hydraulic lifts, tool cabinets, work tables, and everything else in his path.

Bronze Tiger only hesitated a split second before lifting the Enchantress in his arms and sprinting for the door. He could hear the inhuman howls of the ghosts and the rapid-fire clank of red-hot rivets firing from Demolisher’s harness. As he dashed through the doorway, another sound began to rise through the din: the almost subsonic groan of the building’s walls and roof shifting out of balance. Bronze Tiger kept running.

Nightshade, Captain Boomerang, Deadshot and Rick Flag were gathered near the gates of Esqueleto Base. As Bronze Tiger approached with the Enchantress, Nightshade once again opened a shadowy portal that allowed the Squad to bypass the barrier. As they emerged, Rick Flag struggled against Deadshot’s grip, but the assassin held him fast.

"Too ... far ... from ... bracelet ..." Flag wheezed.

The Squad looked back at the abandoned desert base and saw the harsh yellow-orange glare of the explosion filtered through hundreds of cracks and holes Demolisher had riddled the walls of the main building with. The sound of the blast carried through the night air; Demolisher’s screams, if he even noticed the electronic shackle blowing off his right forearm in mid-rampage, did not, but a cold shiver juddered down the spines of the Squad nonetheless.

In the span of another heartbeat, perhaps hastened by the small explosion, the supports of the building gave way and the entire structure collapsed thunderously. A glowing pale blue fountain seemed to rise up from the razed building remains accompanied by a deafening howl, and then hundreds of streamers shot off from the column of unearthly light, in all directions. The light and the sound faded, and the Suicide Squad was left standing in the dark quiet of the desert night.

"He was an absolute spanner, that one," Captain Boomerang sighed. "But by gor he got the job done."

Rick Flag entered Amanda Waller’s office in Belle Reve and stood in front of her desk. His t-shirt bulged irregularly over the bandages wrapping his right shoulder. "Yes?" Waller said, unconcerned, without looking up from the legal pad she was writing on.

"So the reason the trespassers at Esqueleto hadn’t been collared was because they didn’t exactly have necks," Flag began, his tone somewhere between a statement and a question.

"I read your report, Flag," Waller acknowledged. "The Squad thinks they saw some ghosts. I wasn’t there so I have to take your word for it. I consider the matter closed ... unless of course the disturbances resume."

"I doubt they will," Flag said. "But for that matter, I doubt very much that you weren’t perfectly well aware of what was going on at that base before you sent us in."

Waller set her pen down and looked Flag in the eye. "Oh?" she said neutrally.

"I couldn’t figure out the angle, at first," Flag went on. "Whatever was really being worked on there, whatever went wrong, it should have been settled when everyone working there was murdered. Even if the victims found a way to hold on to some kind of life after death, they were confined to that building, prisoners. How much harm could they do?"

"The team seemed to think some of those haunted house tricks were potentially harmful," Waller rejoined.

"But we had to set foot in the haunted house for that to be the case," Flag pointed out. "And it occurred to me, later, that someone else could have done the same. Maybe someone like the Justice League, with their girl-magician Zatanna who can probably speak to the dead. Maybe they’d be interested in hearing how so many people happened to bleed to death in that one particular building. So before anything like that could accidentally happen, you sent us in."

"Look, Flag ..."

"Save it," Flag insisted, holding up a hand. "I’m sure you figured out a long time ago how to sleep at night, and how to live with yourself, Waller. But now I’ve got reason to believe you should think long and hard about how you might handle eternity, if the life you’ve lived turns out to haunt you. Because I think both of us know, it will."

Amanda Waller held Rick Flag’s gaze, but said nothing, even as Flag turned around and walked away.

END