Man of Steel: The Official Movie Novelization

CHAPTER TEN

The Bearcat was a rough-and-tumble bar outside of Yellowknife, catering mostly to truckers and miners. Several semi-trailers were parked outside, alongside a couple of light utility vehicles belonging to the Canadian Armed Forces. Clark was bussing tables when he heard another big eighteen-wheeler pull up to the bar.

The door swung open, letting in a chilly gust of wind, and a hefty truck driver stomped across the threshold. Stubble carpeted the man’s surly features. The bartender called out a greeting.

“Evening, Ludlow,” Weaver said. “What can I get you?”

Clark went back to his work. It was after five and the bar was packed with heavy drinkers determined to put a dent in the Bearcat’s liquid inventory. Raucous laughter and dirty jokes competed with the Edmonton Oilers game on the TV behind the bar. Sawdust coated the floor, soaking up spilled drinks. Clark stooped to pick up some empty bottles. A greasy apron shielded his flannel shirt and jeans.

He paused as his ears picked up on one particular conversation, a few tables away, where three uniformed Canadian airmen were chatting in the corner. Most people wouldn’t have been able to eavesdrop on the discussion, especially through the noisy din, but Clark had no trouble listening in.

“—found something strange on Ellesmere. AIRCOM’s been making runs out there all week.”

“That rat-hole? You gotta be kidding me.”

“I know, crazy,” the first airman agreed. “But the Americans are there, too. A lot of them. Space Command. NASA—”

Another conversation, much closer at hand, distracted Clark. He looked up to see the newly arrived trucker hassling one of the waitresses, a tired-looking brunette in her early twenties. He pawed at her blouse.

“—c’mon, Chrissy. Give me a peek.”

She pulled away from him, balancing an empty tray.

“Back off, Ludlow,” she said. “I’m serious.”

A leer and a snort indicated just how little he cared what she thought. He grabbed her backside, eliciting a roar of laughter from his drinking buddies. Clark scowled. Chrissy was just trying to make a living. She didn’t deserve to be manhandled by an obnoxious trucker. Still, he tried to concentrate on what the airmen were saying.

“—they’re calling it an ‘anomalous object,’ whatever that means.”

Like a UFO? Clark wondered. Like the ones my folks found?

“Knock it off!” Chrissy protested.

She slapped Ludlow’s hand away and took a step backward, but he grabbed her wrist to keep her from leaving. He yanked her back toward the table.

That’s enough, Clark thought. He’d hoped to avoid to getting involved, but he couldn’t ignore this any longer. He straightened up and headed over to Ludlow’s table. Reaching it, he cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Let her go.”

Ludlow sneered at him, like every bully Clark had ever known.

“Or what, tough guy?”

“Or I’m going to ask you to leave.”

The trucker shoved Chrissy aside. He lumbered to his feet, obviously spoiling for a fight.

“I’ve been coming here for fifteen years,” he said. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.” He snatched a foaming glass off the table and hurled the liquid in Clark’s face. “But my buddy here needs a new beer, so why don’t you help us with that?”

Beer ran down Clark’s face. His expression darkened and he clenched his fists at his sides. Ludlow had no idea who—or what—he was messing with.

The trucker snickered at Clark’s anger.

“Hey, Weaver!” he called out to the bartender. “I think your busboy’s about to go postal.”

The bartender shrugged and kept on wiping the bar counter. He weighed the value of a busboy against a steady customer.

“You’re fired, kid,” he said casually.

Ludlow grinned triumphantly. Laughter spread across the bar. Even the airmen looked amused by the episode. Nobody came to the Bearcat expecting good manners and a tranquil atmosphere. Brawls were considered a good night’s entertainment.

“There,” Ludlow gloated. “Crisis averted.” He nodded toward the exit. “Now out!”

Meaty hands shoved Clark in the chest. He seethed, wanting nothing more than to pound the crap out of the trucker. Solar fire smoldered behind his furious blue eyes, ready to be unleashed. A hush fell over the bar as the staff and patrons waited to see what the humiliated busboy would do next. Was he going to stand up to Ludlow after all?

“It’s not worth it, sweetie,” Chrissy said, looking worried.

He knew she was right. Even though it killed him, he backed down and unclenched his fists. He tossed his beer-stained apron onto the floor and headed for the door.

Ludlow lobbed an empty beer can at him. It bounced off Clark’s back.

“Here’s your tip, asshole!”

Ludlow was still chuckling at his own wit later on, when he decided to get back on the road. He stood up from the table and tossed a handful of greasy singles next to a half-eaten meal. Then he belched loudly

“This food sucks!” he announced for everyone to hear. “I’m calling the health department.”

Chrissy kept her distance as he pulled on his hat and exited the bar. He strolled across the parking lot, fumbling for his keys, only to stop in his tracks.

His jaw dropped.

His eyes bulged.

“What the hell?”

Ludlow’s eighty-thousand-pound rig was nothing but a heap of mangled metal. The cab was smashed flat, while the entire trailer had been twisted into a smoking pretzel. The smell of burnt rubber polluted the air.

He wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

Clark trudged along the side of the highway. A duffle bag was slung over his shoulder. Snow and ice crunched beneath his boots. The road wound through densely wooded hills. The Northern Lights glimmered on the horizon.

He smiled for a moment, imagining Ludlow’s reaction when he saw what was left of his eighteen-wheeler. Then he put The Bearcat behind him and kept on hiking north… toward Ellesmere Island. The conversation he’d overheard in the bar played over and over again in his mind.

What sort of “anomalous object” had been found up north?

A truck approached from the south, heading his way.

Clark stuck out his thumb.