BORN TO RUN

By Stephen Crosby

My name is Wally West. I have no idea who I’m going to be.

The day was beautiful, sunny and warm, birds chirping. This isn’t right. Wally felt the day should have reflected his mood; pouring rain, wind blowing ominously through dead trees. The kind of day that one would expect for a funeral. My uncle Barry Allen is dead, and the world should mourn with me.

Standing closest to the coffin, next to Barry’s parents, was his wife Iris, Wally’s father’s sister. This may be the first time he’d seen her cry and it has been no more than a few tears. Today was the first they’d talked since she’d told him. I had just received my acceptance packet when the phone rang, excitedly told my news the moment I heard her voice. It was when Wally had asked to tell Barry that she managed to get a word in. That was how the best day of Wally West’s life became the worst.

As the body was being lowered, the Central City Police Department gave a 21-gun salute. Barry had been one of them, a crime scene analyst. When the fire had started, Barry could have gotten to safety. Instead he went back to pull out two officers, and had been inside when the building collapsed. Not a trace of found of him or whomever else had been inside.
Afterwards, Wally hanged back as Iris talked to her in-laws. He had had never met Barry’s parents; this didn’t seem the right time. Iris didn’t agree. She noticed Wally and waved him over, smiling. “This is my nephew Wally.”

“Pleased to meet you, young man,” Henry Allen said and took Wally’s hand in a soft grip. I remember being told he’d been a surgeon. “Barry spoke the world of you.”

A number of Barry’s friends said the same thing. He’d always talked about Wally, bragged about any little accomplishment. So far as I know, my dad’s friends aren’t aware I exist. Half the time Wally’s father didn’t seem aware, unless he’d done something disappointing. Those were rare, the last being Wally’s choice not to attend his father’s alma-mater. Instead he was going to Central City University.

Later, Iris and Wally were talking and he brought up the story in the paper. There had hardly been any mention of Barry.

“Barry never liked to make a fuss. Were you ever told how we met?” When Wally said no, she continued. “The head of a major crime family had been found dead. I was working the crime beat then, ready to follow the investigation. I photographed the first thing I saw, Barry working over the body. The detectives immediately vie for my attention, bragging how they would bring in the head of the other crime family for the murder.

“Then Barry stood up, his examination finished, and ruled the murder a suicide. Those detectives tried to bring him around, saying that was their chance to end crime in Central City, but Barry wouldn’t be swayed. As it turns out, a tumor was found in the autopsy. A dying man was trying to take a rival out with him, in a pretty sloppy way according to Barry. Then he turned to me and asked about the picture.”

At the memory Aunt Iris smiled. “Every man I’d ever met before only seemed to care about themselves, so I had figured Barry wanted to make sure I’d gotten his good side. Instead he asked me not to run the photo. When I asked why, he said he wasn’t the story.” Iris tapped the newspaper that Wally had thrown onto the table. “Two men are alive because of him. Barry would have rather readers focused on the good than the tragic.”

Speaking of which, she took the chance to ask me about college. Wally leaned back with a sigh. “To be honest, Aunt Iris, I’m less certain every day. Mostly I just applied for the chance to get away from home and spend more time with you and…and Uncle Barry. But now, I certainly don’t want you here alone.”

That brought a laugh, something only Barry could have accomplished. “Listen to you, being the dutiful nephew. Wally, your visits meant the world to Barry and me. While I certainly don’t want you to disappear, I’m fully capable of enjoying life apart from Barry or from you. And besides, you’re a grown man and your first priority should be your future. So again, college?”
This sort of relentless assault was something I had experienced many times. Barry was often able to temper her, but Iris was a reporter and applied those skills at everything. Faced with that, her nephew gave in. “There’s a few courses I’m interested in, but as a whole nothing appeals to me. All the directions I’m seeing are towards aspects of other people’s lives. Yours, my parents, Uncle Barry’s.”

“Those are called childhood influences,” Iris said. “That’s also the point of college, trying different things to figure out what you want. And whatever that turns out to be, we’ll all be very proud of you.”

Several weeks later, Wally was on campus for his first day at Central City University. Taking Aunt Iris’ words to heart, he’d signed up for everything that appealed to him and probably a few that didn’t. Every time Uncle Barry had tried to explain chemistry Wally couldn’t help but yawn. In the end he walked out of registration with a daunting list of classes and no major.
Shuffling the schedule in the back of his orientation packet, Wally scanned the map to find Garrick Hall. Maybe I had fudged the truth to Aunt Iris; the big appeal of Central City University is the co-ed housing. Wally soon found Garrick Hall and reached his floor in time to hear the beginning of the Residential Aide’s speech. He introduced himself as Gregory Wolfe and mentioned he was a graduate major in Criminology. Wally made note of that as he was also taking a class in that.

“I like to think of myself as fair and strict,” Gregory went on to say. “So long as you keep the noise down, avoid breaking major rules and keep the minor stuff in your rooms, we shouldn’t have a problem. And before you ask, yes, a minor in your room is a major violation.” A few freshmen laughed thinking that was a joke. His glare told them it wasn’t, and told everybody what kind of a guy Gregory was.

“Don’t consider me as a guard meant to keep you all in line. My job is to help each of you get the most out of your college experience. Please, feel free to come to me with any questions or concerns you may have. If at any time you feel overwhelmed or wonder about a fellow classmate’s well-being, my door is always open.”

He kept going for several more minutes. The words came from a manual for the most part, sprinkled with a personal touch and rehearsed. Wally was handling Barry’s death well, but figured he could use it to open a dialogue, feel the guy out. He had been to enough summer camps to know that each counselor needed to be handled differently, and RA’s were no different.

As everybody was walking back to their rooms Wally went with the crowd, looking for his room number. The layout looked nice he felt; off the hallway was a common room that branched into two bedrooms. Wally wondered if they were singles, two guys with their own privacy, or doubles, four guys forced to hang out together. Wally found his number and walked in; no door into the common area and the wall with the hallway was clear so there’s no privacy except in the bedrooms.

Inside the common area I find one guy, and I hope it’s just him because at that size anymore and we’ll be sleeping on top of each other. Setting down his duffel bag, Wally extended a hand. “Hey, I’m Wally.”

The young man, Wally’s roommate he guessed, was just fidgeting in the center of the room. At Wally’s entrance he stopped though and stared at him with eyes as wide as the glasses he wore. He took Wally’s hand, more engulfed it with his thick fingers, and said, “Hi. I’m Chester. Err, Chester Runk.”

Immediately, I think of the nickname. Next, I realize that’s exactly what he would have expected. A kid of his size, with that name, other kids in his class would not have let it go. Then I feel bad for my initial impression of him. Part of the college experience is supposed to be moving on from your old identity, to get past all that high school crap. For a man that looks like Chester does, that may not be possible unless he meets a friend off the bat.

“It’s great to meet you Chester.” Whether or not we become friends is up to us, but if we’re going to be living together I should be nice. Wally turned his head to see one closed door and then looked at the one across. “So, is either of these rooms taken?”

“Two guys beat us here and claimed them. Then when I showed up…” Chester blushed, his dark skin grower darker. “They started arguing, and then agreed to share. They said I’d be for…for…”

“Well, they’re loss then, roomie.” Wally picked up his bag, mostly filled with a week’s worth of clothes. “Which is ours?” Wally moved in the direction he indicated then opened the door. “I hope it’s not bunks. After seeing that RA I’m already worried this place will feel like a prison.”
Luckily, the room had two beds against two walls; one opposite the door and one below the window. That bed had bags and boxes on it, so Chester had claimed it already. A lot of the room seemed to be filled with the roommate’s belongings. Unable to walk to his own bed, Wally gently tossed his duffel bag onto it.

“I’m sorry,” Chester said. “I didn’t know how much space we were going to have.”

“It’s no big deal,” Wally told him. “My aunt and…my aunt lives in town, so most of my stuff’s there. After we get your things organized, I’ll figure out what to move here. She probably wouldn’t mind you storing some of this there, if you want. We’ll mainly just want essentials here, you know?”

Chester nodded; probably surprised that Wally was being so inclusive to him. I notice a lot of the books are for physics, and there’s a small box with comic books. Barry would have liked this man.

The door across the common area swung open, introducing Wally to his other two roommates. One was a tall, conventionally handsome man with hair so blonde it was almost white. He strode up to Wally with a big grin on his face and offered a fist-bump.

“What up what up? We were starting to think Chunk here counted as our third and fourth. Hi there man. I’m Griffin, this here’s Paul.”

What a douche. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Wally, Wally West.”

Griffin laughed. “No kidding. My parents went illiterate with my name too. Griffin Grey. Paul, what’d you say your last name was.”

The last was directed to the man standing behind Griffin. He was shorter and stocky, though Wally could tell right away that it was muscle. “Gambi. Simple, ordinary, Italian.” He noticed Wally’s lone bag in the room and raised an eyebrow. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“For now. Like I told Chester I’ve got family in the city.”

“But you wanted your freedom, right,” said Griffin. “Dude, that’s another thing we got in common. My folks wanted me to stay with them in Keystone and commute the bridge every day. But this is our time, and there are honeys to be had!”

“Yeah, I noticed all the girls living here with us. Noticed the R.A. too. He doesn’t seem the kind of guy to let this place be a brothel.”

“Unless a whistle is blown, he won’t pay too much attention,” Paul said. “He’s letting us throw a floor party. What do you think is going to happen after?”

“You’ll be sleeping out here with your hand while I’ve got a hot piece of ass in my bed.” Again, Griffin offered Wally a fist-bump. Again, it wasn’t accepted.

“Sorry, I only do that right before I fight someone. And unless you want to deal with a bunch of awkward encounters, you should hook up with someone from another floor. Or preferably another building.”

“That some solid wing-man advice there. I can tell I won’t be the only one leaving a sock on the door knob.”

It was to Paul that Wally asked his question. “So when is this party going to start? We should probably get this place settled if we’re going to have guests.”

After nearly two weeks in college, it didn’t matter that Wally and his roommates had their rooms tidy, because no guests had slept over. Griffin had turned out to be all talk and no game, while Paul preferred to play elsewhere. Wally regretted not taking a fashion class, as it seemed aspiring models like to sleep with those majors just in case they make it big.

As for Wally and Chester, they were too busy or shy, respectively. When they weren’t studying, they were sleeping or in class. Wally in particular had a heavy caseload that took up most of his days and once a week his evenings in Chemistry Lab. From seven to nine every Thursday he was mixing chemicals, trying to match the results the husband-and-wife Professors put forth.

After his third attempt, Wally moved to record his findings when a gust of wind came through the open window and shifted his papers. His hand went from a deliberate motion to a desperate grab, missing the papers and dropping my pen besides. “Dammit!”

As Wally picked up those papers that had fallen to the floor, another gust blew the rest off his table. One flopped onto his head, mocking him. Annoyed, Wally grabbed the table and hefted himself from the floor. “That’s it. I’m shutting this window.”

Wally was reaching up when a chill ran across his skin and down his spine. He could feel the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. It was the cold stormy air, Wally told himself an instant before the lightning struck.

The feeling wasn’t something that Wally could have processed, let alone describe. Certainly his heart must have stopped. And the pain should have been excruciating. When asked later, Wally would swear didn’t feel anything until he crashed against a lab station and the chemicals on top of it.

I must have been knocked out, but I don’t remember. One thing I’m hit by lightning, next the building’s on fire.

Wally’s eyes opened and saw a bright light. They adjusted, shaping the light into flames. More than half the lab was burning, yet strangely Wally didn’t feel any heat. One wall the flames crept toward was all shelves, each packed with dangerous chemicals. Near one lab exit were the professors and other students, seemingly frozen with fear.

Not thinking for his own safety, Wally sprang into action. With arms raised protectively in front of his head, he rushed through the fire. The first person he grabbed was a fellow student, Angela Margolin, and with her in his arms Wall ran out of the lab and down the hall. At the end was the emergency exit door. Wall shoved the door open, let go of Angela when they were ten feet outside, and ran right back in.

It didn’t look as if anybody in the lab had moved. Meanwhile, Wally saw the flames were a half-foot closer to the shelves of chemicals. What is wrong with these people? Wally grabbed another student and ran outside with him. Another half-dozen times he made the trip, ending with the Professors McGee. Each time, Wally noticed the flames inching closer, until on his last heat they were licking at the shelves.

It was while running toward the emergency door that Wally had a sense of things moving in slow motion. Behind him the lab had exploded, the blast radius rushing to catch up with him. From the corner of his eye Wally could see the edge of destruction moving ever closer to him. But the thing is I was still running at normal speed.

Just as Wally got outside, the explosion caught up with him. A thunderclap pounded inside his ears, super-heated air buffeted hard against his back, and Wally’s legs suddenly gave out from under him. Dropping the professor as he stumbled, Wally and the older man fell to the ground together, the worst of the explosion escaping over their heads.

“I’m telling you, we were saved by some kind of a blur or flash. Something!”

Wally opened his eyes and saw emergency medical technicians working over him. He was lying on his back, every inch of his hurting. Also painful was a burn on his chest, where a jagged hole had scorched through his shirt. The EMTs were cutting this off to better examine him.

“Aside from minor burns you seem okay,” said one EMT through his mask. “But you’re all being taken to the hospital for further tests. There’s no telling what fumes you inhaled from those chemicals.”

The lightning. Those chemicals. As Wally was being loaded into the ambulance he was putting the pieces together. It had looked to be like nobody was moving. I had been the one moving too fast.

“Wally, did you see it?” It was Angela, running toward the ambulance and yelling. “Every time one of us appeared outside, I saw it. Just a flash, but something was here saving our lives!”

Can’t let them run tests. Wally tries to sit up, but he’s strapped down. Violently he starts to struggle, tries to move fast again but he can’t. Finally an EMT injects Wally with a sedative. They’ll find out… Try to study meeee….

A few hours later, however, Wally woke up unrestrained with a nurse standing over him. “The doctor was concerned when he heard about your episode. Luckily all of your tests are negative. Now that you’re awake he can examine you for neurological symptoms. If everything is fine you can go home.”

Just like that. All I had to do was follow a finger with my eyes and I was free to go.

Once at the dorm Wally found himself barraged by questions from his roommates. “Someone said you were hit by lighting!” “I thought your hair was supposed to turn white.” “Was it a ghost that pulled you all out?”

“If I don’t get something to eat I’ll be the ghost.” He’d been given some food and supplements at the hospital, but suddenly Wally was famished again. The guys took him down the quad, where Wally started shoving food into his mouth even as they continued with the questions.

“Easy man,” said Griffin. “That room’s not big enough for Chester and a super-sized you.”
Right in the middle of shoving a burger in his mouth, Wally spat it back out and rose from his seat. “Seriously, man? I nearly died and you’re making fun of people!” Wally grabbed a milkshake, fully ready to throw it in Griffin’s face. Luckily Paul grabbed him by the wrist, protesting. Even Chester was trying to calm Wally down, saying it was no big deal.

“You can put up with whatever you want Chester. But frankly if I could die at any minute I’m not going to spend it around assholes.” Letting go of the milkshake but grabbing another burger to eat, Wally stormed away.

Once outside, Wally had the sense that nobody else was moving. The pace of his steps had quickened, the world around him becoming a blur. It was happening again.

Out on the street Wally was running alongside cars. These weren’t frozen to his eyes, but still moving very slowly in relation to him. He kept running, off the campus and into Central City. The next thing Wally knew he was about to knock on his Aunt Iris’ door. A glance at his watch as he did so told Wally that he’d left the table maybe a minute ago.

“Wally! Oh, it’s so great to know you’re all right.” Of course, being a reporter she would have heard about the fire. And given what recently happened she naturally would have been worried. Suddenly Wally felt guilty for not calling sooner and said as much.

“Oh you be quiet about that. The report said nobody had died or was even seriously injured.” Sure enough, that reporter’s curiosity kicked in and she started with the questions. “So, what happened?”

“I…I’m really not sure. I remember lightning came in through the window. It actually hit me!” Wally hesitated, the continued. “That really took me out of it, so I missed the fire. By the time I woke up the paramedics had arrived.”

It was mostly true. Wally was just leaving out the middle, that he was he who had saved everybody.

“So you don’t know how everybody survived?”

“No. One of my classmates, she kept saying she saw a glimpse of something, that something pulled us out of there. Maybe that guy from Metropolis, wow, I suddenly can’t think of what he’s called.”

“Superman, and no, at around the same time he was spotted saving a cat from a tree. Unless he can travel the country in minutes, nobody is that fast.”

There was a brief pause, and Wally was starting to feel hungry again. He was about to excuse himself for the kitchen when Iris put a hand on his.

“Wally, you know I’m not a religious woman. But what happened, it was a miracle. The moment I heard I was flashing back to Barry. And somehow a part of me just can’t help but feel that he’s responsible in a way for you being safe.”

“Aunt Iris…” What could I say?

“I know how it sounds. But today something or…or someone was looking out for it. It just feels right, believing that it was Barry.”

Over a week passed with Wally trying to make sense of what had happened. Because of the fire, there was no way of knowing exactly what chemicals he had crashed into. No way of recreating things, of figuring out exactly how what happened…happened.

Maybe it was Barry.

Something that Angela had said that night had caused Wally to dig through his uncle’s old comic book collection. Sure enough, he’d found a few stories from the 40’s that were supposedly based on an urban legend. A super-hero that could move faster than anybody possibly could, called the Flash.

But it wasn’t him or Barry that saved us. It was me.

Feeling kind of a fool, Wally was standing in the middle of a field near the high-speed rail line that ran through Central City and Keystone City all the way to Opal City. Chester was a genius at physics, and after a few conversations with him Wally had learned a few facts about moving at high speeds. Like that it generates enormous friction and can cause rapid wear on a surface. In the few times Wally had run so far he hadn’t noticed anything wrong with his clothes or shoes, but it was better to be careful.

It paid off having access to the theatre department and knowing a fashion major. Told it was for a performance piece, Paul had agreed to help Wally in designing a runner’s suit, though Wally made sure to modify the finished product enough that Paul wouldn’t recognize it. The fabric was red spandex that fit Wally’s body like a glove, reducing drag and hopefully unnecessary wear. The soles of his yellow boots were secure but detachable, easy to replace when needed. Wally doubted it would happen, but a rain drop or bug in the eye while moving so fast wouldn’t be pleasant, so the eyes were covered with tinted goggles. Plus it would hide his eyes if anyone ever got a picture or clear look at him.

Strips of yellow around the wrists and waist were jagged to resembled lightning. Wally was convinced that that played a part in the accident. And because he liked it from the comic book, over the covered ears were little wings like what that Flash had. Another idea Wally stole was from that Superman guy, making a symbol for the chest, in his case a lightning bolt over a white circle.

Simple and noticeable. Folks should know who saves them. In the distance, he saw the train rapidly approach. It took some concentration, but in an instant Wally felt his senses adjust as the train seemed to slow considerably. If this was on all the time I’d go nuts.

Lowering himself to a runner’s stance, Wally waited for the train to nearly reach him. Okay. Time to start measuring just how fast I can go. He’d read this train goes up to over a hundred and fifty miles per hour. If everything went well, he’d try China, where some trains went past three hundred mph.

The train was roaring past. When he was almost even with the tail end, Wally started to run. For the first few steps they seemed to be running even, and then it appeared as though the train was going backwards in a blur. Almost immediately Wally was in the lead, running close alongside the track until he could see the city rapidly approaching. When he stopped and turned to look, the train wasn’t in sight.

My name is Wally West, and I’m the fastest man alive. I’m The Flash.