Marco's eyes locked onto the lanky figure ahead, stumbling and lurching through the underbrush like a drunk fleeing a bar fight. But farther ahead, closer to Crane, was another figure in a wool overcoat.
"Gordon! Where is your mask?" Marco shouted.
Gordon did not turn around. He just angled his face slightly. "I gave it to Hansen! He is still new!"
Marco swept his gaze back. Sure enough, two Major Crimes detectives were fifty meters behind, hands braced on their knees, sucking air through their gas masks. They looked like deep-sea divers who had surfaced too fast.
Gordon's sense of duty was unimpeachable, but his habit of playing the self-sacrificing hero at times like this was counterproductive. You could not save anyone if you got yourself killed first.
Marco pushed harder. His enhanced core strength kept him upright through stumbles that should have sent him sprawling. Every time his foot hit a slick patch, his body adjusted automatically.
The forest grew denser. Branches clawed at their clothes. Gordon's figure flickered in and out of view between tree trunks, and farther still, Crane ran. He kept glancing back.
The sounds of pursuit behind them gradually faded. The officers from West Precinct and headquarters might have been competent chasing perps through city streets, but this kind of sprint through rough terrain? Their gear was too heavy, their conditioning not specialized enough. One by one they fell back, gasping, able only to watch as three figures disappeared deeper into the woods.
"Crane! Stop! You cannot escape!" Gordon's voice was ragged.
Marco closed the distance between himself and Gordon, matching pace just behind and to the right. Then he saw a slight disturbance in a thick patch of ferns that Crane had just passed.
Psssht!
The sound was faint, but his instincts screamed at him.
A plume of pale yellow smoke erupted from the ferns. It spread with alarming speed, carrying a nauseating sweet-sharp odor. The cloud expanded rapidly, engulfing the space directly in Gordon's path.
Fuck!
"HOLD YOUR BREATH!" Marco roared, lungs burning.
But it was too late.
Gordon was too close. He heard the warning, but momentum carried him forward. He took two more steps before he could stop himself, and those two steps carried him straight through the center of the gas cloud.
But he inhaled.
For a brief moment, nothing happened. His stride faltered, his movement stuttering as if his body had forgotten how to function. Then every muscle in his body locked at once.
A strangled gasp escaped his throat.
He collapsed forward as if his strength had been cut away beneath him.
He struck the ground, sending leaves and dirt scattering. Almost immediately, his body began to convulse. His back arched violently while his limbs thrashed without control.
Marco's head felt like it was going to explode. The smell of that gas reminded him of cleaning supplies mixed with something organic and rotting. He had been holding his breath since the moment he heard the hiss, but even the trace amounts getting through made his eyes water.
He vaulted over Gordon's convulsing form. Ahead, Crane had stopped running. The bastard had turned around to watch.
From twenty meters away, he could see the expression on Crane's face. He looked like an artist admiring his masterpiece at a gallery opening.
Marco fired as he ran.
Shooting on the move ruined accuracy, but at this distance he should still have hit something. The first round slammed into a tree trunk, sending bark and splinters flying. The second shot missed wide to the left. The third passed so close to Crane's head that he flinched and stumbled.
Crane's smile vanished. He clearly had not expected the cop to open fire instead of stopping to help his fallen partner. He spun and ran, crashing through the underbrush.
Marco stopped, dropped to one knee, and steadied his rifle. The sight picture was perfect. His finger tightened on the trigger.
"Give it—"
WHAM!
Something slammed into him from behind and to the side. The impact drove him into the ground, his rifle torn from his grip and sent skittering into the leaves. Then a fist crashed into his left cheek.
Stars exploded across his vision. Pain bloomed through his jaw. He struggled to lift his head, blinking away the spots, and found himself staring up at Gordon's face.
Except it was not Gordon.
The man straddling his chest had Gordon's features, but they were twisted into something barely recognizable. Veins bulged at his temples and neck. Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and wild.
"GAAAHHH! LOEB! FLASS! GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER! STAY AWAY FROM BARBARA!"
He rained down punches. Marco twisted his head, the next blow glancing off his cheekbone and hammering into the dirt beside his ear. He tucked his arms across his chest, deflecting the follow-up strikes, and hooked his right leg around Gordon's neck. Using the leverage, he twisted hard and threw the detective off him.
"Look at me, damn it! It is me!" Marco rolled to his feet, gasping. "It is Marco! You are hallucinating!"
Gordon did not hear him. He scrambled to his feet, eyes locked on Marco.
"I will kill you!" Tears streamed down Gordon's face even as he charged forward. "I will kill all of you! No one touches my daughter! NO ONE!"
His hands shot out, fingers clawing for Marco's throat. Marco sidestepped, but Gordon adjusted mid-lunge. His fingers latched onto Marco's neck.
Marco could not shoot him. This was Gordon, one of the few decent cops in Gotham.
So he fought the hard way.
He drove his thumb into the pressure point just behind Gordon's wrist, forcing the grip to loosen. Gordon's right hand came off his throat, but the left stayed locked. Marco pivoted, using his body weight to spin them both. He hooked Gordon's ankle with his own and sent them both crashing to the ground.
They slammed into the ground. Leaves and mud burst upward on impact. Gordon's grip finally broke, but the detective was already moving.
Against a normal opponent, this would have been over in seconds. Marco had training. But Gordon was not normal right now. The fear toxin had overridden his pain receptors, flooded his system with adrenaline, turned him into something that could not be reasoned with and refused to stay down.
He tried a joint lock. Gordon twisted out of it with a move that should have dislocated his shoulder but apparently did not register. Marco went for a chokehold. Gordon drove his elbow back into Marco's ribs so hard he felt something crack.
They thrashed and rolled across the forest floor, grappling like animals. Mud splattered across their faces. Blood mixed with the dirt and leaves.
"DARNELL! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
Marco got his legs around Gordon's torso, locking him down. Gordon thrashed, screaming incoherently about corrupt cops and his daughter and things that made no sense. Marco shifted his weight, trying to pin Gordon's arms without hurting him too badly.
Then Gordon bit him.
"FUCK!" Marco jerked back as Gordon's teeth sank into his forearm, right through his uniform sleeve. Blood welled up. He slammed his palm into the side of Gordon's head. Gordon's teeth came free, and he rolled away, putting distance between them.
In the direction Crane had fled, there was nothing. That guy was gone.
"God damn it," Marco panted, wiping blood from his mouth. His entire body ached. His forearm throbbed where Gordon had bitten him.
Gordon lunged again, but this time he was slower. The initial burst of toxin-fueled energy was starting to fade. Marco sidestepped and put Gordon in a restraint hold, forcing him face-down into the leaves.
"I am done playing with you," Marco growled, knee pressed into Gordon's back. "Stay down!"
Finally, he heard the sound of boots crashing through the underbrush. Darnell emerged from the trees, still wearing his gas mask, shotgun up. Behind him came the two officers from Major Crimes.
"You okay, man?" Darnell asked as he looked Marco over.
"Peachy," Marco said through gritted teeth. "Help me cuff him before he bites me again."
"Again?"
"Just do it!"
Together they forced Gordon's hands behind his back and secured them with flex-cuffs. Even restrained, Gordon kept struggling.
"...can't let them... have to stop them... Barbara..."
Marco stood up slowly, wincing at the pain in his ribs. He retrieved his rifle from where it had fallen, checked it for damage, and looked back toward where Crane had disappeared.
They could search for hours and probably never find him. The forest was too big, and Crane knew it too well.
"Get him to Gotham General," Marco said, nodding toward Gordon. "Tell them it is fear toxin exposure. They need to sedate him and keep him under observation. And for fuck's sake, make sure someone stays with him. If he wakes up still hallucinating, he will hurt someone."
One of the Major Crimes detectives knelt beside Gordon. "What about Crane?"
"In the wind," Marco said bitterly. He looked at Darnell. "We need to regroup. Then we head back and talk to Edward. Maybe he has a way to track this bastard."
Darnell nodded, then reached out and clapped Marco on the shoulder. "You should have waited for me."
"Yeah, well." Marco spat blood into the leaves. "Next time I will send you an engraved invitation before chasing the psycho chemist through the woods."