Ex-Heroes

Fifteen NOW

Gorgon pounded his fist on the door as he entered the mill. “You here?” he called out. He shrugged out of his duster and walked into the huge room.

Cerberus had adopted one of the studio’s workshops as her own. It was a large space, but the armor maintenance filled most of it. Filmset walls made a small private area for her bed and a few pieces of furniture. The plumbers had knocked one of the side-by-side bathrooms apart and replaced it with a bare-bones shower.

The room was centered around four large work tables made from full-sized sheets of plywood. Carved shapes of foam were mounted on each one, cradles for specific pieces of equipment. One table had a laptop. Another had a small Honda generator mounted under it.

A four-step ladder stood between them. The metal titan stalked back and forth by it, fastened to the wall by a thick power cable that ran into the armor’s waist. “Where’ve you been?”

“Domestic disturbance.” He threw his coat over a chair and tugged at his gloves.

“We’re going to be late.”

“We’ll be fine. Not like they can start without us.”

“The wrenches are over there.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not going to be able to get it all on your own. We should wait for St. George.”

He shook his head and tapped his goggles. “I told you, I broke up a fight on the way over here. I’m good for an hour or so. I told him to just get Barry.”

“Are you sure?” She stood in front of the ladder and held her arms out to either side.

“Stop putting it off and strip,” he said with a smirk.

“Fuck you.” She blinked a few commands to the suit’s computer, whispered a passcode, and across the armor two dozen matchbooksized panels popped open to expose bolts. The wide collar of armor slid apart to reveal another four sockets. “The head first.”

“Yeah I know.” He stepped up the ladder and looked her in the eyes. “We’ve done this a couple dozen times now.”

“Sorry.”

Gorgon slid the Allen wrench into the collar and worked out each of the front bolts. A few minutes later he reached around the armored skull and loosened the two in the back. He pocketed the wrench and grabbed the helmet with both hands. “Ready?”

Cerberus nodded, the faint hum of the battle suit vanished, and its eyes went gray as it stiffened into a statue. He heaved and the armor’s sixty-pound head came up. He heard a faint hiss as seals opened, half a dozen clicks as USB plugs popped out of sockets, and then a deep breath.

Danielle had pale skin that made her freckles stand out. Her strawberry-blonde hair was damp and plastered in strings against her forehead. She winced at the sudden expanse of open space, blinked a couple times, and tried to peek over the armored collar. “Got it?”

“Yes, I’ve got it,” he sighed. He stepped down the ladder and set the helmet down in one of the cradles near the laptop. “You reek, you know that? How long have you been in there?”

“Thirty-nine hours.”

He climbed back up the ladder and attacked the bolts on her left shoulder. Fifteen minutes later the armored limb was in its own cradle and he was working on the next one.

She shook out her hand and squeezed the fingers into a fist two or three times. Her arm was sheathed in black Lycra. It looked skinny and frail compared to the rest of the battlesuit.

Gorgon moved the ladder behind her. Six bolts held the back half of the torso in place. He finished the last one and tapped her on the head. “Ready to get out?”

She wrapped her arms around the suit’s chest and nodded.

The armor plates scraped apart and the torso split down the sides. The back half was the size of a car hood. Six interlocking plates attached to a titanium spine weighing three hundred pounds. Gorgon tipped the section toward himself, took a step down the ladder, and let it drop into his arms. He took a few steps back and set it down on one of the tables.

Danielle twisted her head back. “Good?”

He stepped up the ladder and put a hand on the small of her back just below a harness strap. The Lycra was damp with sweat. “Got you.”

She let go of the chest plate and dropped back. He got his arms around her, took another step up, and lifted. She wiggled her hips and her legs slid free of the armor.

“Jesus,” he said. “You stink like a locker room.”

“Shut up and put me down. And watch your hands for once.”

He let her legs drop and she put weight on her feet. Her knees buckled and she grabbed at him.

“Sure you’re good?”

Her skintight suit let him see every tremble and quiver. “I’m fine,” she said. “It just takes a minute.” She took a few wobbly steps until she was used to being human again and stumbled to the nearest table.

“We’ve still got about forty minutes if you want to shower.”

Danielle stretched a pair of cables from the laptop to the helmet. “You’re not exactly springtime fresh yourself,” she said.

He glanced down at the wet spot she’d left on his chest. “Yeah, well, that’s why I always bring a spare.” He peeled off his tee-shirt and tossed it on the table near the armor’s right arm.

A longer cable unspooled to the back section on the next table. She seated it and accessed the main processors along the armor’s spine. Her attention went to the laptop and made it clear she had no interest in seeing his very broad and naked torso. A few strokes on the mousepad activated a set of diagnostic programs and she glanced over the screen to watch him pull the fresh shirt across his chest.

“I’m going to hit the shower,” she said. “Are you going to wait?”

He shrugged. “If you want.”

She nodded at the flimsy curtain separating the bathroom from the workspace. “I’m trusting you to at least act like a gentleman.”

“I’ll be working on my goggles with my back to you.”

Danielle rolled her eyes and wondered if he was ever going to take the hint. A minute later she was surrounded by the comfort of the tiny shower stall. She left the curtain open just enough so it didn’t look deliberate. Not enough she felt exposed. Ten minutes later she walked from the shower to her bedroom in a wet towel and bared her teeth at his back.

“Set,” she said a few minutes later.

“Wait there.” He gave one of the tiny screwdrivers a half turn and tapped the trigger a few times. On the workbench, his goggles flashed open and shut. Another slight adjustment, another test, and he lifted the lenses back to his face.

“You good?” She’d walked up right behind him.

He turned. “Yeah. Thanks for the tools.”

“No problem. Let’s get this over with.”

She killed the overheads at the door, leaving a circle of light at the center of the room. The last sections of the armor still stood between the workbenches, headless, armless, and backless. The power cable ran off into the darkness. Only a few hours and she could have it back on.

* * * *

Gorgon scowled across the table. “What’s he doing here?” Josh sighed and turned to St. George. “I told you this would be a waste of time.”

“He is here because I asked him to be,” said Stealth. “Why?” asked Danielle. “Connelly’s our senior doctor. If anyone should be here it’s her.”

“Because he understands the virus,” said Stealth. “And he understands us.”

“And Doctor Connelly’s setting a broken arm right now,” said Josh. “Nice to see you, too, Danielle.” Barry placed his palms on the table and hefted himself up out of the wheelchair. He swung his butt onto the tabletop. There were half a dozen pictures of the prisoner scattered across Stealth’s usual collection of maps. “You are all aware of this new development. The Seventeens have found a means of keeping their intellect and awareness when they transform into exes. It would appear they still pose a threat to us.” She held up one of the photographs. “Eduardo, last name unknown. He claims to be here under the orders of the gang’s boss, an individual by the name of Peasy.

According to Gorgon, the number and style of Eduardo’s tattoos indicate he has only been with the Seventeens for a few months at best, which would be the proper rank for such an assignment.” Danielle blinked. “They’re still initiating people?” Gorgon nodded. “It’s what they do. The gang just exists to grow, build up prestige, grab territory. There’s no outside system left, but they still want the power.”

“Next question,” said St. George. “Have many of the Seventeens changed? Are most of them exes?”

“I dropped over a dozen of them when they attacked the other night. They’re still alive. The majority of them, at least. And all five prisoners were alive when they were brought in.”

“Are you sure your power doesn’t work on the …” St. George shrugged. “On the smart ones? Maybe they’re different somehow.”

“I tried Eduardo in the cell. No effect. He’s dead.”

“About that,” asked Barry, “did all the prisoners change?” Stealth set her fist on the table and rested on her knuckles.

“The two who committed suicide both became exes. So far only Eduardo has shown signs of intelligence.”

“And we’re sure he’s intelligent? Not just spitting out words like a parrot or something?”

“As of yesterday he has taken part in three conversations. He is making definite, deliberate responses.”

“Just playing devil’s advocate,” said Barry, “but we’re usually fighting with the Seventeens over food and resources. From what I’ve heard so far, it sounds like these smart ones don’t go chasing after people. I mean, none of them actually need to eat to survive, right?” Josh nodded. “Eating seems to slow down decomposition somehow, on a minimal level, but it doesn’t sustain them. We think it’s just some sort of basic, primal urge from the reptilian part of the brain, one of the only things that still works.”

“Good thing that’s the only primal urge they act on,”

murmured Barry. It got a few chuckles. “So this could be a good thing,” tossed out St. George. “A new breed of exes that don’t need to kill people.”

“They might still do it for fun,” said Gorgon. “Of course, if they do decide to go after people, we’re their main resource,” said Danielle. “The Mount’s just become a big grocery store.”

“Open twenty-four hours,” said Barry. “Thank you for shopping,”

“So what is causing it?” Stealth glanced at Josh. “Some mutation in the virus?” He shook his head. “The ex-virus doesn’t mutate. We’ve grown thousands of cultures. No variation at all. If I had to guess, I’d say these smart exes have some quirk in their own cells that’s making the virus react differently to them.”

“So this is something new.”

“You know what I’m wondering?” said Barry. “Why are the only ones we’ve seen Seventeens?” St. George shrugged. “If you woke up as a smart ex, would you come running up to the Melrose Gate? There may be hundreds of them who are hiding from us.”

“Doubtful,” said Josh. “If it’s a cellular mutation in the victim it has to be extremely rare. Last numbers I heard said there were over three hundred million exes in North America alone and there’s never been a report of anything like this before.”

“Out of three hundred million,” argued Gorgon, “a few hundred is still pretty rare.”

“Maybe the people are all just starting to mutate now,” said Barry. “It could be some sort of evolutionary response to the virus, a survival of the fittest thing.” Stealth shook her head. “Maybe the virus just started to mutate now,” added Gorgon.

“There could be some new influence we don’t know about.” Josh glared at him. “The virus doesn’t mutate!”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How? Have you forgotten who I am?” He pulled his withered hand out from his pocket and thrust it at the goggled man. The parchment fingers trembled in the air. “I’ve been living with this damned thing hanging over my head for two years now. It doesn’t change or I’d know! ”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Gorgon. “I forgot, you’re the fucking expert when it comes to dealing with the ex-virus.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“That’s how Kathy died, wasn’t it? Because of your expertise?”

“Yeah, you know what?” Josh straightened up and reminded them all how big he was. “Your teenage girlfriend’s dead.”

“Fuck you!”

“She died and I couldn’t save her. She’s dead, so’s Meredith, so are millions of other people. Millions! You don’t have any sort of special pass on grief so just deal with it.” Danielle didn’t lift her eyes from the map. “Like you have?” He stabbed a finger at her. “You’re the last one to be pointing out damaged people.”

“ Quiet! ” Stealth turned her head to each of them. “The next person who interrupts,” she said, “I will break their right ring finger. Is that clear?” They looked at her with raised eyebrows and slack jaws. Then, one by one, they shifted their gazes to St. George. The Mighty Dragon shook his head and crossed his arms. “Whipped,” murmured Gorgon. Josh and Danielle bit back their laughs. Barry tried and failed. Stealth and St. George glared at him. “May we continue?” They nodded. “We are all making wild guesses and assumptions. Without information there is nothing else we can do.” She gestured at the map. “Therefore, we need to go make an assessment. The Seventeen’s exact location, numbers, resources. If we can, determine how many of them have become exes. We know most of their activity has been centered here in Beverly Hills, between La Cienega and Century City. The last time Zzzap made a pass, three months ago, this seemed to be their base of operations.” Barry nodded. “They’ve used cars and a lot of the old National Guard barricades to block off roads and make walls. Gregory, Maple, Pico, Century Park East. They’re all just one massive pile-up, three cars high at places. Decent amount of barbed wire and stakes, too. Pretty much impassable by anything that can’t think and climb.” His finger made a set of slashes across the map. Gorgon shook his head. “That’s a hell of a lot of space. How many people are we talking about?” Barry shifted on the table. The dark woman traced the outline he had described. “We are estimating about twenty-two thousand,” she said. St. George’s palms hit the tabletop. “What!?”

“That was three months ago. A population of that size has had several births and deaths since then.”

“They’ve got twenty-two thousand people living there,”

repeated Gorgon. “They’re doing better than us?”

“It’s like the Dark Ages,” Barry said. “They don’t have electricity past a few generators. Barely any working vehicles that I’ve seen.

Most of their people are using torches and cooking over bonfires. Half their guards are armed with baseball bats and spears.”

“They have raw numbers,” said Stealth. “We have everything else.” St. George cast his eyes between the woman and the darkskinned man. “Why didn’t you tell us this?”

“I decided it would be demoralizing to the populace of the Mount. The more people who knew, the better the chance it would slip out.” Gorgon shook his head. “So this asswipe gang we’ve been telling everyone is no real threat is actually ruling their own kingdom with almost five times the manpower we’ve got?”

“Assuming they recruit children and the elderly into their ranks,” said Stealth, “yes, they are. I believe less than twenty percent of that number are actual members of the Seventeens. To continue the medieval analogy, the rest are living as serfs in exchange for protection.” Josh pointed with his good hand. “Is that Roxbury Park?”

“It was,” said Stealth. “They are using it as their own farm now.” He nodded and twisted his lip. “I proposed to Meredith there.” Gorgon sighed. Barry looked up to examine a ceiling panel. “Question,” said Danielle to fill the silence. “What about this Peasy, their big boss?” She looked at Gorgon. “You dealt with the Seventeens all the time. Who is he?” The goggles swept back and forth over the map. “No idea.

None of the guys I knew who were near the top before things fell apart.

Might be a new player.”

“Are you sure?” He shrugged. “There were a dozen or so men in their upper circle. The only ones with similar names were two Pedros and one idiot who called himself Painkiller, real name Fernando.” Stealth tilted her head under the hood. “Painkiller?”

“He was a fucking idiot, trust me. Convinced he had some kind of superpower. Tried to fight me twice with his eyes closed, once while wearing a welding mask.” Danielle tilted her head. “Did that work?”

“No.”

“Did he have any kind of power?”

“Besides a superhuman ability not to learn from his mistakes?

No. Neither of the Pedros struck me as ruthless enough to run the gang, either. Good lieutenants, not real leaders.” Stealth looked at the map. “Is there anyone in the next level who might fit?”

“The next level is a hundred guys. Probably twice that if they’ve gotten as big as you’re saying. Without a real description it could be anyone. Hell, Peasy could be someone who just moved in and took over.” He swiped at the map and knotted his fists once or twice. “What?”

“It pisses me off,” he said. “I used to know the SS backwards and forwards. We’ve downgraded them as a problem for so long we don’t know a fucking thing about them anymore.”

“Thus, the recon,” said Stealth. “A small team. Two at most.”

“Just us?” asked Gorgon. “Or were you thinking of civilians?” She shook her head. “After Zzzap, St. George and I are the fastest. We are also the best suited to operating without support.” St. George raised an eyebrow. “How tough do you think this is going to be?” Stealth ran her finger across the map. “Four and a half miles each way. Keeping a low profile, that is a full day of travel with no backup.

With actual reconnaissance time, we will be gone for almost two days.” Danielle tapped the map. “Why not just have Barry do another fly-over? Faster and easier.”

“Since he cannot hold anything,” said Stealth, “we cannot get images. Everything would come down to his memory, descriptive ability, and how long it would take to debrief him.”

“Plus I’m not exactly subtle,” he said with a wink. “Hard to do covert ops when you’re brighter than the sun.”

“We need to see what they are doing when they believe we are not observing, get a solid idea of their forces, and perhaps discover who this Peasy is.” The pen Josh was twirling between his fingers clicked on the table. “Oh, hell.”

“What?”

“Not Peasy,” he said. He looked up at them. “Pee-Zee.” Barry tilted his head. “What?”

“I was thinking about the virus and how it doesn’t mutate, and that got me thinking about the contagion and all the news announcements they kept making to keep people updated, and then it just hit me—”

“Pee-Zee,” repeated Stealth. St. George glanced at their faces. “Am I the only slow one?”

“Patient zero,” said Josh.