Ex-Heroes

Eight NOW

Zzzap charged Cerberus back up to full power while St. George crushed the jammer. Fifteen seconds after that Zzzap was back at the Mount telling the gate sentries to get a rescue mission together.

In the back of the truck, the scavengers lined the walls on either side, rifles ready. Lee and Ty stood on plastic milk crates, looking over the raised lift gate. St. George stood below them, a few feet out from Big Red’s trailer hitch, his leather coat buckled tight. “We just need to last maybe half an hour until the other truck gets out here,” said the hero. “Take your time and call your shots. It’s not a contest and you don’t want to waste ammo you’ll need later. If anything gets within ten feet of Big Red , Cerberus and I’ll take care of it, so no pistols.”

The armored titan stood in front of the truck and flexed her fingers again and again while she stared at the setting sun. Lady Bee stayed on top of the cab as a spotter and to watch Mark.

Jarvis perched on the truck’s hood. He looked down Melrose and called out “Military guy.” He squeezed off a shot and a few yards out a buzz-cut ex in filthy digital camos spun, fell to its knees, and slapped its face against the sidewalk.

“Baldy,” said Andy with a squeeze of his trigger. An ex threw its head back and dropped between the long shadows. “Yellow shirt,” called Ilya. “Biker,” added Ty. They called off quick descriptions for a few minutes, and the exes dropped. “More from all directions,” said Bee. “They’re hearing the shots.”

Lee turned to look at the sunset. He held up a hand and squinted at his fingers with one eye. “We’ve got maybe five minutes of sunlight left,” he said. “Probably twenty until dark.”

“They’ll be here in twenty,” said Cerberus. Billie aimed her rifle. “Female cop.” Luke lifted his head from his scope. “Boss,” he called to the back of the truck, “we got three, maybe four dead guys coming down from the north. Look like SWAT, maybe. Armored heads.” St. George glanced up at Lee and Ty. “You guys got the rear?”

They nodded, and the hero launched himself to the north.

A quartet of former cops. Ex-cops, he thought with a smile. Their eyes were pale behind dusty visors, and their dark uniforms almost hid the gore staining them. One was missing an arm, another had a twisted leg. They all had nametags, he realized as he dropped out of the sky and their black-gloved hands reached for him.

He wrenched the arm of the first one, Davis, and shoved it into a sergeant named Hale or Hall. The tag was too bloodstained to be sure. The impact sent both exes sprawling and St. George turned to a dead man who had been named Webster. He grabbed the officer’s helmet and twisted it halfway around. There was a crack, and he twisted it the rest of the way just to be sure. Webster fell to the pavement.

The last one grabbed him from behind and sank its teeth into his shoulder. He heard some of them crack. It gnawed on the leather while he reached up, grabbed the back of its neck, and flipped it over him onto the sprawled Davis and Hale-or-Hall.

He twisted their heads one by one. The last man had been named Carabas. St. George piled the bodies up in the center of the street and tried to ignore the chattering teeth. Did they know each other, he wondered, or work together? Or was it just coincidence to find them all here?

Luke shouted from the truck. “Nice work, boss.”

The hero added two or three more bodies to the pile and then leaped back to the truck without another look. “How are we doing?”

“Peachy-keen,” said Ty. “Schoolgirl.” His rifle kicked and another ex fell.

A large mob stumbled toward the front of the truck, teeth chattering, and Bee and Jarvis took turns dropping them. “Hey,” said the bearded man. He pointed at an ex shuffling out of the shadows toward them. “Is that Sandra Oh?”

Servos whined as Cerberus glanced at him. “Who?”

“That one there.” He flicked his thumb against his rifle and a red dot appeared on one of the exes, an Asian woman with tangled hair. “Is that Sandra Oh?”

“I don’t think so,” said Bee, lining up another shot. “Denim shirt.” Her rifle made a chopping noise as the ex stiffened and fell.

“Who the hell is Sandra Oh?”

“From Grey’s Anatomy ,” said Jarvis. “The bitchy Asian woman.”

The titan shook her head. “I never watched much television.”

“Did you see Sideways ?”

“I just said I don’t watch television.”

“It was a movie.”

“Shoot the damned thing!”

“If it’s a celebrity I want the points.”

Cerberus thumped forward and drove her steel fist into the ex’s face. The skull crumpled with a noise like a bag of chips and the creature cartwheeled back into the shadows. “Points are for the wall,” she growled. The other fist backhanded a dead woman in an LAPD uniform, sending her flying into the side of a building across the street. “This is survival. Get back to shooting.”

“Bitch in blue,” he muttered.

She glared down at him and the ex fell as his round burst its head.

* * * *

In the back of the truck, Lynne groaned and pushed herself up onto her elbows. “What the fuck?” She touched her nose and the fingers came back spotted red. She flinched as another volley of rounds went off. “What’s going on?”

“We didn’t have time to argue,” said Lee. “Still don’t. Grab your rifle and get up here.” He pulled the empty mag from his own weapon and slapped in a fresh one.

She wiped blood from her nose and grabbed the gleaming M-1 lying next to her. She checked the magazine and looked out at the dozens of exes stumbling toward Big Red . “I’m going to kick that jackass in the nuts when we get home.”

“He offered to let you, if it makes you feel better. Black coveralls.”

“Wifebeater,” called Billie.

Something flared like the dawn far down Melrose Avenue. “I think I see Zzzap,” said Bee. “He’s on his way back.”

The light pulsed twice and flared again. And then, echoing down the empty road, they heard reports over the endless clicking of teeth.

“Shit,” said Jarvis. “Is that gunfire?”

“That’s a lot of gunfire,” corrected Ilya.

“Exes?”

Billie shook her head. “That’s not just us. Somebody’s shooting back.”

St. George came bounding over the truck. He tapped the bead on his headset. “Melrose gate, you there?”

The radio hissed. “Melrose gate, this is the Dragon at Big Red , do you copy?” More static.

Cerberus glanced at him as she lifted an ex by the neck. “Another jammer?”

“It’d make sense.” He kicked an ex away and Jarvis put a round through its skull.

There was another surge of light and radios around the truck squawked. “ Big Red this is Melrose,” a voice buzzed over the walkies. “You guys still out there?”

Cerberus hurled her ex through the windshield of a car as St. George keyed his mic. “Here. That you, Derek?”

“They’re coming to you. ETA twelve minutes.”

“Copy that,” St. George said. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Lady Bee give a thumbs-up. “What’s all the noise?”

“Seventeens. Got a little ahead of themselves. If the gate had been open all the way they’d’ve had us.”

“Everything okay?”

There was a crackle of static. “Gorgon was waiting for them.”

“Right at the gate?”

“Yep. He’s feeling pretty amped right now.”

“How?”

“Stealth told us it was a diversion, you getting stuck out there. We caught a half dozen. The others are on the run. Zzzap’s keeping after them. How are you holding up?”

St. George planted his foot against another ex and sent it flying. He looked back at the truck again and the scavengers gave a variety of signals. He added up fists and fingers. “A third of our ammo’s gone. Immediate threat of two hundred exes. We’ve still got one man down and he …”

He glanced up at Mark’s slumped form and Lady Bee shook her head.

“He’s not doing any better,” finished the hero, “let’s say that.”

“Copy,” said Derek’s voice. “You should see their headlights soon.”

St. George took a breath and leaped back over the truck, coming down on top of an old Asian woman in a flowered blouse. He grabbed her by the hair and tossed her down the street into a chalk-skinned security guard.

The exes were a crowd now. A swarm of dozens on each side, all shuffling toward the crippled truck. The night echoed with countless clicking teeth and dragging limbs.

“Concert tee-shirt,” called Ilya.

“Hippie-girl,” said Lee.

“Doctor,” shouted Lynne. She had to reload and yelped when the M1’s breech snapped on her thumb.

Cerberus grabbed two exes and smashed their skulls together. She let the headless corpses drop and brought her fist down like a sledgehammer on a man in a tattered business suit. She kicked the bodies away and they tripped another handful of exes as they spun across the pavement. Lady Bee and Jarvis made sure none of the fallen got back up.

“Boss!” shouted Luke. “A little help.”

St. George stepped to the passenger side and a trio of exes fell on him. A teenage girl in a Jack In The Box uniform threw her arms on the hero and tried to sink her teeth into his neck. Another wrapped its arms around his shoulders as he twisted, tried to bite his scalp, and ended up gnawing a mouthful of hair it couldn’t tear loose. The last one, a child, clung to his leg like a leech and chewed at the back of his knee.

He glanced up at Luke. “Watch the lift gate for me.”

“Got it.”

He waded a few yards away from the truck, dragging the exes with him. He worked his hands between himself and the teenager as she gnashed at his throat, felt a tooth drop from her mouth, felt her withered breasts under his palms, and shoved. She flew back and vanished into the night. Between gunshots he heard something in the distance hit the ground and crack.

His fingers closed on the child’s neck. Two yanks shook the thing off his leg, and he held it at arm’s length to look at it for a moment. It was caked in blood and gore. He hurled it at a shuffling dead man and watched them both fly back into a tree just off the road. They twitched for a moment, trying to move with shattered spines.

Another ex lumbered toward him, a heavy bald man with a dark goatee. There were two bullet holes in his shirt. St. George tried to step forward and the ex swallowing his hair tugged him off balance.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He whipped his neck forward and felt his hair slide free to slap against his back.

The goateed ex raised its arms, clacked its teeth together twice, and its left eye vanished in a spray of black blood. It dropped to the ground.

“Thanks,” St. George shouted.

“No worries,” yelled Billie from the truck. “Priest.”

St. George drove his hand into the hair-eater’s throat and felt the bones shatter. He held the dead thing by its limp neck and swung it, knocking down two more exes. A backhand throw landed it on top of the wiggling pile under the tree.

“Headlights,” bellowed Cerberus. She pointed at the faint glow past the overpass.

“About fucking time,” growled Ty, lining up a shot. “Militarywannabe.”

“Everyone get ready to move,” said St. George as he walked back to Big Red . “All your gear, all the supplies we found, anything that rides in the truck. We leave nothing. Not a piece of rope, not a band-aid, nothing.”

The rescue truck was Big Blue , a cobbled-together twin of their own vehicle. It surged up over the hill, engine growling, and crushed the exes beneath its tires. The men in its bed added their weapons to the hail of gunfire knocking down exes.

“Marines,” howled Ilya, “we are leaving!”

Big Blue squealed to a halt a few yards away. “Somebody call for a lift?” shouted the driver. Johnny K leaned out the window and grinned at them. “Load up.”

Luke bounded over the cab, sliding down next to Jarvis. “Gate to gate,” he yelled. “We’ve got wounded and supplies. There’s too many exes to walk it.”

Johnny K nodded and threw his vehicle back into gear. Big Blue swung into position near St. George and the hero lowered both lift gates to create a walkway between the truck beds. The scavengers dragged bags and crates across. Lady Bee and Ty carried Mark.

Luke slid into Big Red ’s cab through the window and started handing things out. Fire extinguishers. First aid. Ammo boxes. Flares. Jarvis and Lee ferried them to the other truck. Luke crawled out, clutching a police radio to his chest. “We’re clear,” he shouted to the armored titan.

Cerberus crushed a skull in her palm and nodded. She batted a few away and pushed through the swarm. They clawed at the armor and chipped their teeth on the metal plates. She trudged forward, dragging them with her as they filled her screens.

“Drop the gate,” shouted St. George. He batted exes away, clearing a path for the battlesuit. Jarvis, Lee, and Lynne fired into the crowd while the others stabbed down with their pikes.

Cerberus swung her arms, shaking off the undead, and the pikes knocked them away. St. George peeled them from her, hurling them into the swarm. Bodies vanished beneath the shambling horde.

She stomped onto the metal lift gate and Luke flipped the switch, raising her up with a whine of hydraulics. “Hop on,” he yelled to St. George.

The hero cracked an ex across the jaw and shook his head. “I’ll slow the lift. Get her on board.”

“Damn it, boss—”

“Give me a pike!”

Someone tossed the flagpole down to him and he swung it like a bat, cracking half a dozen exes in the skull. He pulled back and swung again, knocking down another handful before the shaft cracked. He rammed the broken pike through an ex’s skull and kicked the corpse away.

Cerberus stepped up onto the bed of Big Blue and the lift gate gasped with relief. Luke toggled the switch and the metal plate swung up to block them in. “All aboard,” he hollered.

Johnny K gunned his engine and brought the truck around, crushing exes as it made a wide turn.

Dozens of hands pawed at St. George, grabbed his clothes, his hair, his limbs. He lashed out, felt them fall even as new hands reached for him. They pinned him with sheer numbers and he felt a swarm of teeth across his body.

This would be a good end, he thought. Overwhelmed saving my team. A good way to be remembered.

There was a roar of automatic fire and skulls exploded around him. Bullets slapped his head and shoulders like hailstones. His sunglasses shattered and his headset twisted into plastic scrap. The weapons barked again and exes sprayed blood and meat over him as they slumped and fell.

In the back of Big Blue , Lady Bee stood with Jarvis, Luke, and Ilya. Their weapons coughed up smoke. Jarvis dropped his empty magazine and reloaded.

St. George wiped gore from his face. The rounds had cleared a wide arc round him. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“You’re bulletproof,” shouted Bee with a grin. “Stop whining and get in the truck.”

He landed next to the stripe-haired woman. “You just wasted a ton of ammo.”

“Maybe we just wanted an excuse to shoot you,” said Ilya with a smile.

“Thanks.”

“No worries, boss.”