Read Batman 6 - The Dark Knight for Free Online Page B

lifted it, weighed it, liking the solidity and heft.
    The policeman was leaning down, patting his horse’s flanks. Looking for something? A scratch, some sort of injury?
    The Scarecrow became the kind of being Jonathan Crane had never been, a creature of pure action. He stood and sprang and struck the policeman with the stone, and after the policeman’s cap had fallen off, struck again and yet again. The policeman slumped, but did not fall completely off his mount; his boot was caught in the stirrup, leaving only half of him on the street.
    The Scarecrow leapt over the animal’s rump and into the saddle. Could a horse swim across the river? If so, the Scarecrow’s troubles were as good as gone. All he had to do was ride the horse across the water, to downtown Gotham City, and perhaps on to an airport or the big railroad station. By dawn, he could be a thousand miles away.
    But he had a new problem. There were no pedals to push, no gearshifts. He remembered seeing actors in cowboy movies halt horses by pulling on those straps—the reins ? But how did one make a horse go?
    “Giddyap,” he said.
    The horse began to move, slowly, dragging the policeman’s body.
    “Faster,” the Scarecrow said.
    The horse ignored him. But at least it was moving. Then it stopped. The street was blocked by about a dozen men and women. In the dim glow of the moon, now blurred with a thick fog, the Scarecrow could see that the people in front of him were all wearing the orange jumpsuits of Arkham Asylum inmates. Some sat, some stood motionless, others walked in tight circles.
    “Out of the way,” the Scarecrow shouted.
    “Where should we go?” an inmate asked.
    The Scarecrow considered: could Jonathan Crane’s former patients possibly be of any use? Perhaps.
    “Follow me,” he said to the group, and to the horse: “Giddyap.”
    The horse remained motionless.
    “Hit ’im with your heels,” an inmate suggested.
    The Scarecrow did, and the horse began to trot, dragging the dead cop and followed by a small troupe of inmates. Ahead and to his right, the Scarecrow saw someone he recognized, even in the dim light, a woman he had dealt with at the asylum. Rachel Dawes. She was standing next to a child.
    “Dr. Crane?” she shouted.
    How dare she! How dare she call him by his old name!
    “Not Crane,” he screamed. “Scarecrow!”
    The woman, the insolent Dawes person, grabbed the child and began to run. The Scarecrow struck his heels against the horse and followed her. She stumbled but continued running. She turned into an alley and stopped. Blank wall. A dead end. She was trapped.
    The Scarecrow pulled on the reins and the horse stopped. Several of the inmates who had been trotting behind the animal also stopped and crowded around it.
    “Let me help you,” the Scarecrow said, his voice muffled by the mask.
    Rachel pulled the boy behind her and reached into her shoulder bag.
    The horse reared back, front hooves pawing the air.
    “Try shock therapy,” Rachel said, and pulled a Taser from her bag. She shot it at Crane and the barbs caught in the sacking of his mask. Electrical sparks arced across Crane’s face. He screamed and went limp. The horse whinnied and galloped back the way it had come.
    The inmates scattered.
    Scarecrow didn’t know when he fell off the horse or how long he had lain on the cobblestones. When he opened his eyes, the fog had thickened even more, and the moon was only the faintest of blurs. Leaning against the pavement, he got to his feet and wobbled for a moment. Where to go? Not the asylum. The place would be full of police and, worse, much worse, the Batman might still be there somewhere. No, the asylum was out. But where else? His original destination had been the riverfront, and that might yet be a good idea. Maybe he could find a boat, or hire someone to ferry him across.
    A new problem: where was the river? His fall had completely disoriented him and the thick fog hid landmarks, anything familiar to