The Flash #33: "Shockwaves"

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A half hour before it happened, where was I?

My face must have been grim as I walked past a dozen fallen bodies on the second floor of Central City Hospital, and I remember that I couldn’t help but shake my head at the dreadful waste of life. I looked up, and for just a moment, my eyes met those of someone else in the ward. His expression was unreadable behind his blue snow goggles, and I’m sure I wondered for a moment what Leonard Snart is thinking. Barry would probably have known- would know. He made it his business to learn all about these twisted men.

Any other night, I might have been fighting this man and his companions, of course-- but on this night, he just nodded to the right door and I... well, I went in. I saw Barry with his baby, and my heart melted and I... I couldn’t have known, would never have...

But I’m sorry, I’m digressing. You know all that. You want to know what happened next. I suppose you probably know me by now but, well...

My name is Jay Garrick, and I used to be The Flash, the Fastest Man Alive.

And though I pray to God it was otherwise, for now I am again.

* * *

Leonard Snart’s lip curled as the old Flash went on into the room. With the New Rogues and that idiot Kadabra down, that meant it was time for Captain Cold and his companions to take their leave.

“Let’s get out of here,” he snapped to Mirror Master, stepping over the prone form of Kobra. “Like he said.”

“Now hang on,” Detective Morillo began hotly, but Chyre put an arm across to stop him. Cold and Chyre exchanged a momentary expression, with the latter nodding curtly. This one wasn’t an idiot then, thought Cold-- he knew the two policemen couldn’t stop the Rogues from getting out. Particularly not when those Rogues had just saved a lot of lives and earned the gratitude of the Flash anyway.

Silently, McCulloch pointed his mirror gun at one of the walls, still part-frozen from one of Cold’s earlier blasts with his gun. Without comment, Boomerang stepped in, heaving the unconscious Weather Wizard, followed by Heatwave. Piper gave a last minute glance to the two detectives before stepping in himself.

“Cold,” McCulloch cleared his throat. “Time to go.”

“Just a minute,” Cold responded. Scowling, he thrust his way down the corridor, heart hammering, though he wouldn’t show it. His expression tightened as he saw that the door at the bottom was intact, and threw it open to find… an empty bed.

His sister was gone.

Hours later

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“…can’t find him anywhere,” I finish, shaking my head. My old friend Johnny Quick places a hand on his shoulder, his own expression sorrowful. He has a daughter, a wonderful girl with the JSA, named Jesse, and he knew all too well what it was like to lose a child. Not that Barry and Iris were my children, of course, but... well, they were as good as. And I never thought they’d go before... no. I’ve seen too many people go, too many friends come back. They’ll be back, I tell myself, they will be back. Heck, even Quicksilver came back, and he was gone for half a century. Barry and Iris and Carrie will be back again.

“I… understand,” responds my addressee, and he means it. Aren’t many folks who can reassure me just like that, but he manages it. Then again, there aren’t many folks like him in general-- at least, not on Earth. “Jay, what happened to him… I can’t even imagine.” Clark shakes his head sadly. “I came the moment I heard how bad things were in Central, but there was some sort of forcefield…”

“Yes,” It’s Johnny who speaks before I get a chance. “Only speedsters were able to vibrate through it, no-one else. Thawne must have deployed it to keep any help out-- it vanished as soon as he did. You did everything you could.” Clark doesn’t look any happier-- of course he doesn’t. He takes the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Still…” He pauses, and I know he’s looking for the right words “Iris is a born survivor, Jay-- we all know that. And if anyone is going to find her, it will be Barry. If there’s anything I can do…” He’s right, I tell myself. Heck, if Superman believes it...

“Thank you, Clark. And thank the League as well-- Hal, Dick and Diana have all called in to ask after the news reports…” Jay let out a heavy sigh and stood. “I know you’re right-- I know he’ll be back… but I just wish we knew where he’d gone.” And I mean it- because one thing we speedsters are good at is sticking around.

“Into the Speed Force, of course,” That’s Quicksilver-- or Max Mercury, as he calls himself these days. If I helped show Barry the ropes, then he’s the one who trained Johnny- and me a fair bit too, to tell the truth. Strange fellow, Max, and prone to go off on tangents, but you won’t meet a nicer guy, nor find a better one to watch your back. And he’s been around the block more than a few times. “Barry’s done what I did… he ran into the Speed Force itself.” That doesn’t sound good at all...

“Can he come back?” asks Superman for all of us, one eyebrow cocked.

“If he has something to live for, he can-- and we know he does,” I sigh in relief at that, but Max doesn’t look happy. “I did. But…. When I came back, it was into a world completely alien to me. Even if Barry does come back…” He looks up as my blood freezes, and meets my gaze, his expression apologetic. “…it may not be in any of our lifetimes.”



“...for a special statement from the Warden of Iron Heights penitentiary which was broken open at the beginning of the night…”

“People of Keystone and Central City. My name is Gregory Wolfe, and I have come before you to apologise. A few hours ago, Iron Heights Maximum Security Penitentiary was broken open by a force we could not contend with, with fourteen of our brave guards perishing in an attempt to contain the prisoners. While I deeply regret each and every one of those tragic losses, my greatest error is one that you cannot know of.

One month ago, I discovered the now public identity of the Flash, the Fastest Man Alive, when his wife, Iris Allen, disclosed it in a discussion with an inmate of Iron Heights. I immediately became concerned that this information would leak, and that any who found out might target these cities. I pleaded with Mrs Allen to leave the city, to move elsewhere, before this happened and our cities attacked. She refused me. In my… foolishness, I did not reveal what I knew to the authorities, for I thought perhaps… perhaps I could trust the Flash.

Now we know, people of the Twin Cities, that I was wrong. The monsters that ravaged Central City apparently did so because it was the Flash’s City. The explosion in Keystone City occurred at Barry Allen’s address. And the breakout-- the death of the guards here-- and subsequent prisoner rampage culminating in the attack on Central Hospital, was aimed at the Flash’s family. For years I had warned that the presence of the Flash in this city was a danger to its people. I attempted to warn Iris Allen, but she stubbornly refused to accept this. And now the Twin Cities have paid the price.

I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

And I hope that some day, perhaps, the Flash too can earn our forgiveness for the heinous tragedies he has caused this night.

Thank you.”

* * *

I look up at that TV for a long moment before I can bring myself to switch it off, and stare down at the floor. Clark’s gone on his way, and there’s still no sign of Barry or Iris or Carrie, and now it’s just me and Max and Johnny trying to pick up the pieces. We’ve already helped clear up the bodies, and there’s nothing-- except the giant crowd of press screaming questions-- to stop us from going home, but none of us can bring ourselves to leave the room. I can’t stop looking at that chalk outline on the floor- and the idea of that creep saying this is Barry’s fault...

“People won’t believe it,” Max says, God bless him, but I know the truth.

“They will,” I say simply. “You’ve been gone, Max. You don’t know how it works. People, they want someone to blame for these things. I’ve seen it all before-- saw it with a thousand other tragedies. Wolfe’s giving them somewhere to direct their anger.” I take off my hat and look down for a moment. I know the two police detectives are still out in the corridor, and I’m not sure I want to see their faces right now.

“But c’mon, Jay,” Johnny intercedes desperately. “Keystone and Central have loved the Flashes since 1940! One night can’t change that!”

“Sure it can,” I shrug grimly. “Heck, Johnny, you of all people know how much one night can change things. Quake may be over, but the shockwaves....” I shake my head slowly, remembering Alan saying the exact same thing back after Pearl Harbour. “...no-one knows how far the shockwaves will go.”

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“Helluva night,” Captain Boomerang shook his head in amazement as the television blared on, then tossed his hand down on the table in disgust “And that twit’s blathering on about how it’s Flasher’s fault?”

“Maybe it is,” snorted Heatwave, raking in his chips. “Don’t care much either way.”

“It’s not his fault,” Pied Piper shook his head from the corner, away from the poker game. “He didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“So what, we pretend it’s a coincidence?” McCulloch sneered. “Ask me, he had it coming to him.”

“Yeah,” Cold spoke for the first time since they had returned to their old hideout. “Ain’t many coincidences around nowadays, are there?” he laid down his hand and turned his gaze on Piper. “Must be a few though, right?” he continued almost conversationally. “Take you happening to find out that there was trouble in the hospital where Lisa was. Awful coincidence….”

Piper didn’t look up, but his hand may have tightened just a little around his mug. “Hardly a coincidence, Cold. It was on the news.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing…” Cold stood, and the others craned their necks from their chairs, the card game suddenly forgotten. “The news just said there was trouble. It didn’t say where.” Piper licked his lips nervously.

“What are you sugges--”

“I ain’t suggesting anything, Piper.” Cold cut him off roughly. “I’m saying it right out. You’re working with the cops. You’ve been one of them all along.” Piper stood, holding up both hands defensively as the Rogues closed in around him.

“Wait, you think… no. That’s not true, Cold. It’s not…”

“Sure it is,” Cold snarled. “It all makes sense now. Those times you’d go off by yourself…. the way you’ve always talked about the cops and Flasher as though they weren’t that bad. The way some of our heists were getting foiled and no-one could figure why. And then I saw that glance you gave the cops back at the hospital?” He spat, and pulled his cold gun out of his belt. “We get a Rogue back,” He jerked a thumb at the still unconscious form of Mardon slumbering in the corner. “And we lose one. All in one night. Howabout that….”

“No, Cold, wait,” Piper reached, but before he could get to his Pipe, Heatwave had picked it up.

“You thought you could pull one over on the Rogues?” He snapped, and broke the flute in two with ease, hurling its shards at his feet. “You know the saying, Pipes. You play with fire….” His eyes lit with fanaticism as he brandished his flame-gun.

“….you get burned…”

And Piper shouted in fear as the Rogues closed in around him.

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“Central?” The sallow-complexioned man snorted in disbelief, which turned into a long hacking cough. “No way,” he hacked at last. “Place is speedster territory. Across the low table, his companion-- dressed, as he was, in a dark suit, smiled and spread his arms.

“That’s the word I’m hearing. Seems that with Mister Scarlet and Gold up and vanishing like that last week, it’s open season down there.”

“I don’t believe it. There’s still the old guy. And those two other ones, the ones who look like they should have retired in the friggin’ sixties. Plus the kid...”

“I’m telling you, they’re not as fast. He was the best of ‘em. And by the time he comes back, we’ll have dug our way in too deep for him to get rid of. Biggest trouble is from those wackos in the bright suits, the one he used to fight-- the Rouge or whatever the hell they call themselves. This is the chance of a lifetime. And with the governor stepping down over the whole mess, even the boys in blue are in chaos, man.”

“Alright, suppose I want in on this?” The sallow-faced man sat back in his suit. “Who’s in charge down there? Who’s running this op?”

“New guy, man, but they say he’s good. Like the next Penguin.” His companion grinned, showing off glistening teeth. “Yeah, don’t worry. There’ll be chicks and guns and drugs back on the streets of the Twin Cities in no time, man. Right where they belong.”

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“Hey,” Wally gives me a smile as he sees me enter his room at Titans Tower-- but I’m more than old enough to see the cracks in it. I don’t comment on it though-- my own expression’s probably the same as my eyes go straight to the cuts and bruises all over his body. That girl Raven did her best, but... shaking aside those thoughts, I speak myself.

“Hello, Wally. How are you?”

“Better,” Wally answers slowly. “I mean, I can’t run as fast, but.... I’m better.” There’s a silence, the awkward kind of silence everyone really hates, and I look at the boy for a moment-- but he won’t look back at me. Not for the first time, I wish I had Clark’s gift of knowing what to say.

“I talked to your parents,” I say at last, and I know before I’m done that it’s the wrong thing to say. “They’re sorry, but they have some really important engagements and...”

“They don’t want to see me,” Wally replies, his voice matter of fact, dry, and my heart breaks just a bit. He doesn’t meet my gaze, and he isn’t surprised. Nor was I, truth be told. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t angry about it. Wally likes to say they aren’t bad folk, just bad parents. I hope he’s right.

“They’re busy.” It’s a lie, which isn’t something that comes easy to me, but I’m determined that I won’t make Wally any glummer, even if he already knows. There’s another long, long silence. Darnit, Jay, what’s wrong with you? This kid may as well be your own grandchild, you’ve known him for years. What’s so different this time? But I know the answer right away, of course. Everything is.

“Have they found Doctor Alchemy yet?” Wally asks distantly, and I snap out of my reverie. Doctor Alchemy... I haven’t told him about how we got out of that. Don’t reckon I should any time soon either, it’ll just make him feel worse. As if we didn’t have enough else to deal with...

“They... no. He’s still on the loose.” I hesitate, just for a second. “Wally, that wasn’t your fault, you can’t for a moment...”

“What about you and Joan?” Wally interrupts me. Darnit, Wally, look me in the eye... look at me while you talk, don’t get so down... “Have the press...”

“They’re still camped around our house, 24/7.” I try to pass it off with a laugh, but I reckon it convinces him as much as it does me. Which isn’t saying much. “I’m sure you’ve seen the stories... thanks to Wolfe, Barry’s gone from the saviour of Keystone to the man who blew up the Twin Cities. Thank the Lord Max, Johnny and I can get in or out unnoticed, but Joan... well.”

“And the construction?”

“It’s... begun. The people of the Cities have never allowed us to help them clean up after these disasters, but this... this is different. It’s as though they think we’re responsible. We...” I close my eyes again for a moment. I haven’t felt so old, so out of touch, in a long time. Never realised before how much Barry was a link for us. Without him, with Wally’s guilt... the whole thing’s falling apart. I look up at Wally, whose expression is still clouded, hidden. What the heck happened to that bright, bouncing Wally of old anyway?

The same thing that happened to all of us at some point, something inside me whispers grimly. Thawne did. And things won’t ever be the same.



“...after Governor Baker’s resignation last week. The State Republican Party has narrowed down its shortlist for the Kansas Governor’s replacement, including dark horse candidate and former state penitentiary warden Gregory Wolfe. Wolfe has emerged with a law and order platform after his scathing rebuke of the Flashes after they instigated the Twin Cities Disaster of--” The television is silenced as I flick it off. Seems to be happening a lot these days.

“Any word on Wally?” Johnny rubs his chin, leaning back into his aging armchair.

“He’s... recovering.” I respond, but the frown on his face belies my words, I know. “Physically at least.... emotionally, mentally...” I don't complete the thought. Johnny is about to say something, but then his wrist-comm starts flashing green, and with a quick apology, he's gone. Not a surprise really. It's happening to all of us since... since Barry vanished.

“He blames himself for not defeating Savitar. He thinks that if he’d been there, then he might have been able to help the others. And I can tell you from experience, that sort of guilt is the most destructive,” Max summarises, nodding. “Thank you,” He adds, as Joan passes him a cup of tea- he and Johnny both offered to make it a few times, but as I could have told them, Joan wasn't having that for a second. She's been like this since the war- always insists on doing her part. I can't even imagine how I'd get along without her.

“The Titans will help Wally,” Joan suggests as she hands another cup to Johnny- who has just blazed back into the room again. “Lord knows I love that boy more than his own parents ever have, but they’re what’s best for him until Barry and Iris come back. I’m too old to take care of two children, and with he and Barry out of commission, you boys are already hard pressed enough in the streets...” Max’s eyes narrow at that, and he exchanges a look with me. I shrug my shoulders a little.

“There’s some truth in that,” I acknowledge. My wrist is bleeping again- the police again. Central this time. The general mood is pretty hostile to us, and the police are no exception- plenty of officers died in the attack. But they're not fools enough to think they can handle this crime wave without us, and they were smart enough to give us these communicators to let us know where the trouble is. “I’ll handle it,” Max says, and then he's gone.

“And we’ve trespassed on your hospitality for quite long enough as well,” Johnny says, standing. “And we'll probably be called soon as well. A pleasure as always, Mrs Garrick,” Max is back now, and after only a second he too decides to take us leave with Johnny. They know that Joan and I are barely alone as it is these days.

Max pauses before he leaves to look down at the newly bought crib in which Baby Bart is looking up with wide eyes. “And you, young man,” he growls in a falsely deep voice, lowering his hand to wave into the cot. Joan and I exchange a glance- he and the baby have hit it off in a way which surprised us both. Max has never seemed like he'd get along with kids. Soon Barry will be back anyway, and there'll be two kids for Max to play with...With lightning reflexes that catch even us by surprise,, the boy impulsively grabs his finger. Eyebrows raised, Max is trying to shake his hand and dislodge the boy, but the child is determined.

“Watch it, Max,” snorts Johnny with amusement. “Or you’ll never be able to shake him off.” With a final tug of effort, Max manages to free himself despite Bart’s best efforts. Then my wrist is bleeping, and with regret, I have to leave yet again...



I haven’t seen the Central City Cathedral so packed since the end of the war. I work my way through the Memorial Service crowd, thankful that folk don’t recognise me in my suit and tie. Time was the Flashes would have been offered a place of honour at these events, to stand in costume. Like policemen in their uniform-- folk said that what we represented brought some light to a dark occasion. But the Twin Cities didn’t seem to want light much anymore.

I’m a regular churchgoer, and have been going on seventy years now. Today’s the first day I can remember that I wanted to go into what Barry calls ‘Speed Mode’ to make it end quicker. The pastor lingers just a little too long over the ‘instigators’ of the disaster, and I swear he looks down at where Joan, Max, Jesse, Johnny and I are sitting near the back.

Barry, Iris and Carrie aren’t included in the list of the deceased, though Barry’s poor father is, God bless his soul. Ordinarily, we would have asked them not to include them-- I still think, in my heart of hearts, that somehow, some way, we’ll see them again. Ordinarily, if we thought we’d lost a Flash, it would have taken a separate service just to hold the crowds. This time, we weren’t contacted. I suspect, though I don’t say it, that it’s because they don’t want to provoke anger. No need. You don’t need to be J’onn J’onzz to know the minds of the people of this city as the pastor goes on and on about the reckless endangerment of this city’s people.

At least Barry never had to see this...



“This is a waste o’ time, Cold,” The voice echoed across the mostly abandoned warehouse beside the Keystone Docks.

“You’ve said that already, McCulloch.”

“And he’s saying it again.” Weather Wizard pointed out. Cold glared at him for a moment, his gaze lingering on Mardon’s chest, which all of them, knew to still be heavily bandaged. At just the point when it had become uncomfortable, he turned again.

“And I’ll tell you again; it’s not. The Rogues are back in Keystone and we’re damn well going to do this right. No more solo runs, no more crazy-ass screwed up plans and giant machines. Time was the Rogues owned this city. We ain’t fools enough to think that Flasher won’t come back, but while he’s gone, we got ourselves the chance to get back what we lost.”

“Why not more?” intruded a new voice, and as one, the Rogues whirled, weapons raised. The newcomer smiled as he saw the response, and raised his empty hands. He had a sallow complexion and dark, unruly hair which contrasted with his immaculate dress. “Because that’s what we’re offering you. Join our organisation, and you can have more than you ever have.”

“Right,” Heatwave sneered. “We’ve heard that before. But this ain’t Gotham. These cities don’t take kindly to mobsters,”

“Unless they wear crazy gimp suits,” countered their contact. “We got us a few of them too though-- don’t we, Chillblaine?” There was a movement in the shadows, and a muscle-bound figure in a blue and yellow costume stepped out, arms folded smugly. The Rogues were all taken offguard-- except Cold, who didn’t even turn his head.

“Your muscle don’t impress us. We know what you are.”

“And what makes you so different from us exactly-- other than the costumes?” the sallow-faced man responded, one eyebrow raised. Cold took a step forward, jaw set.

“We’re a long way from being saints. But even the Rogues have some standards. We don’t pretend to be more than we are. We don’t kill just for the fun of it. And we sure as $%^& don’t sell crap to kids looking for cheap highs.” Chillblaine stepped forward, but the mobster raised a hand to stop him, fists clenched, expression tight. “This ain’t a negotiation, this is me telling you how things are; we don’t give a damn about you. But if you keep pushing into our cities, if you keep trying to move on our territory, then you’ll find yourselves at war with the Rogues. And that ain’t a good place to be.”

Without even another look, the other Rogues followed him out of the room, leaving Chillblaine and the mobster alone.

“Thinks he’s a tough guy,” snorted Chillblaine. “Who the hell can possibly think it’s a good idea to get him in the organisation?”

“Oh come, surely you know the answer to that by now,” the new voice was much deeper, filled with mockery, and suddenly both figures paled, turning to the rear of the Warehouse, where a massively built figure leant on his ornate stick, seeming to appear in the room and know instantly what was being said. He looked up, and smiled thinly, golden eyes peering over his dark glasses.

“The Candyman can.”



“...with great pleasure that I announce that the Republican Party can announce the next governor of this great state of Kansas to be.... Gregory Wolfe!”

I turn off the television at once, and there’s total, deathly silence over the whole room. I don’t care what he says in his acceptance speech-- I can imagine it already. He’s been plastered over local TV, telling everyone about how he can fix security, how he’ll make sure a tragedy like this never happens again-- how it’s all Barry’s fault. The only thing that comforts me is that at least neither he nor Iris can see it. But they’ll have to deal with this if... when, when they get back. They’ll be back, of course they’ll be back.

“I’m going on patrol,” I say at last, and I realise that my voice sounds as resigned as I feel. I raise my hat and put my hand on my brow for just a second. For once- just for once, for a moment, I’m glad that there’s so much to do out in the cities right now. I’m not a violent man at all, but God have mercy on the first thugs I find out there.

“I think I’ll join you,” says Johnny, and I can see by his face he’s thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

“...has long been a dream of mine,” Governor Wolfe smiled widely, taking in the cheers of the jubilant crowd. “I am only sorry that it had to happen under these circumstances. People of Kansas, my fellow Americans, the terrible events which just twenty-eight days ago tore apart our great city of Keystone and its brother city in our neighbour state of Missouri can never be allowed to occur again!” He allowed the crowd to burst into cheers once again.

“As I promised during the campaign, no more will the administration of this state permit vigilantes to take the law into their own hands. No more will we build statues to them, commemorate them with parades and museums. And never again will we be targeted, will our children die, because of their crimes!” The response was almost deafening, but he raised a hand to forestall any further celebration.

“Tomorrow, I will be asking the Kansas State Legislature to introduce new legislation that will ban these so-called ‘speedsters’ from operating on our soil. We will demolish the museum that my predecessor so irresponsibly devoted to these vigilantes, and we will give the proceeds to those who lost a loved one in the terrible events the Flash instigated. The Flash has claimed to be the ‘protector’ of the Twin Cities. I cannot speak for the people of Central City, but to any speedsters who listen tonight, the people of Keystone and of Kansas have one response-- we do not need, nor do we want, the ‘protection’ you have to offer!”

And the crowd went wild.



It’s with a heavy heart that I come in the door again as the sun sets behind Central’s skyscrapers. Joan never asks me how it’s gone-- she can always tell by my face. And for these past weeks, my face has been about as miserable as can be. We need you back, Barry. We need you soon. There’s word of the Rogues active in Keystone again-- which of course, I’m banned from, along with the others, thanks to our esteemed new governor. Gangs and drugs and problems which used to be in Batman’s department are rising, and I don’t... I don’t know what to do.

Would Barry know? I don’t have the answer. The Twin Cities aren’t like this. Being the Flash isn’t like this. It’s mostly crazy schemes and far-fetched devices, aliens from the planet whackadoo and bad guys who seal up a city in a mirror just because they can. Being the Flash was never easy-- but, time was, it was fun. I don’t envy Barry much, because in this day and age, all the fun seems to be gone, even here in the Twin Cities.

And then I see a flash of lightning in the corner of my eye, and my face lights up.

I turn, and Joan lets out an exclamation of shock-- and then I see the familiar uniform and for the first time in a month, I let myself feel real joy, because Barry is back, and...

...and that’s when I realise that there’s only two people here. And I see their faces. And all thoughts of greetings and welcomes and questions vanish from my mind.

“Barry?” I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Where’s Carrie?”

And he tells me.

No one ever knows how far the shockwaves will go.