Blake wanted to fight, not herd civilians.

“Why?” he asked.

“In case we fail,” Batman said, speaking the unthinkable. “Lead an exodus across the bridge. Save as many lives as you can.”

He understood the reasoning, but he didn’t like it.

“Don’t you need me here?”

“You’ve given me an army,” Batman said. He watched the liberated cops as they climbed up from the sewers, first by the dozens, then by the hundreds. There seemed to be no end to the tattered flood pouring out of the shadows and into the park. None of them appeared particularly interested in apprehending Batman. They knew who their true enemy was.

“Now go,” the masked man said.

Blake nodded. He had been accused of being a hothead before, and maybe there was some truth to that, but he knew when he had to put his own anger aside. Avenging Ross would have to wait. He had a more important duty.

Sorry, partner, he thought. I wish you could see Bane go down.

He turned to leave, then paused to look back.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Batman said.

“I may not get a chance later.”

Batman nodded. They both knew the odds were against them. They still had to defeat Bane and his army, and keep the bomb from going off.

At least now we have a fighting chance, Blake thought. And the Batman on our side.

He hurried back into the city.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Gordon checked on the metal box one last time before tucking it under his coat. Dawn would be arriving soon, but the sky was still dark for now. He and his men lurked in shadowy doorways, staying as far from the streetlights as humanly possible. The last thing they wanted was to be picked up by Bane’s men again. Especially now that they had a chance to save Gotham—and take the city back.

He watched the deserted street, keeping one eye on his tracking device. He nodded at his men.

The truck was coming.

A rusty metal dumpster, its paint peeling, stood in a murky alley. Fresh snow covered its lid. Dented trash cans, piled nearby, were overflowing with refuse. Garbage collection had been non-existent during the occupation. Rats scurried amidst the trash, emboldened by the chaos in the city.

The place smelled like a toilet. Catwoman wrinkled her nose. She was unimpressed—until Batman undid a latch and opened one side of the container, which hit the ground like a ramp. A thick layer of snow muffled the sound.

Hidden inside the rusty metal shell was the coolest-looking motorcycle in the world: the Bat-Pod.

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have…” Without waiting for an invitation, she hopped onto the cycle. She stretched out atop it, feeling its sleek contours beneath her. Eager hands explored the controls.

“The midtown tunnel’s blocked by debris,” Batman said gruffly. “But the cannons give you enough firepower to make a path for people.”