Ex-Patriots

Chapter 14 NOW

They brought Cerberus out in pieces. Each component was sealed in heavy wooden crates. A team of volunteers lugged them out with hand trucks and furniture dollies and rolled them down Avenue E to the Plaza lot. Danielle stood at the intersection of E and 3rd, reacting to every bump or rattle with a flurry of curses.

“Ease up,” said St. George. “It’s packed solid. It’s not going to get damaged by any of this.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Sorry,” she shouted to the two men who acknowledged it with a wave. Two soldiers joined them and they hefted the crate up into the Black Hawk. An olive-drab case replaced it on the furniture dolly. The second wave of soldiers had brought medical supplies, some ammunition, and a variety of odds and ends. St. George had seen one case that seemed to be nothing more than boxes of candy bars.

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah,” she said. “If they’ve got half the resources John says they do out there, I’ll be able to give the armor a major overhaul. Implement a couple of ideas I’ve had.”

He looked down E and saw Cesar and Lee bringing out one of the smaller crates. HELMET was stenciled on it in blue letters. The younger man shot him a sullen gaze as they got closer. “And?”

“And what?”

He tipped his head back toward the helicopter. “Are you coming back?”

She followed his gaze. “Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know. I was talking with John last night. He thinks they might want the suit to stay with them. If it stays, I stay.”

St. George’s forehead wrinkled at the news.

“He’s not sure,” she added. “From what I gather the military’s spread so thin they’ll probably ask most of us to keep doing what we’ve been doing out here. You might be stuck with me.”

He smiled. “It hasn’t been that bad so far.”

“You haven’t been paying attention then,” she said. Her eyes snapped to the soldiers as they took the crate from Lee and Cesar. “Hey,” she called out. “Be gentle! That helmet cost more than that helicopter.”

St. George laughed.

“Hey,” said Smith. He walked over to them. Captain Freedom loomed behind him. “Did I miss something funny?”

They shook their heads.

“So,” Smith continued, “it looks like everything’s moving along. Did you guys decide who’s coming with us?”

“I shall be accompanying you back to Yuma,” said Stealth. She’d appeared behind them in the shadows. “Your Colonel Shelly and I have much to discuss.”

Smith nodded. “Excellent. I’m glad to have you with us.”

“I am not with you yet,” said Stealth. “That is one of the points we shall be discussing. I dislike the idea of removing one of our most powerful assets from the Mount.”

“The colonel isn’t about to leave you with weak defenses, ma’am,” said Freedom. “We’ll work something out.”

Smith turned his gaze to St. George. “I wish you were coming with us.”

“We’ve got a run scheduled for this afternoon,” said the hero. “We’re going down into Larchmont to clean out a bunch of the fruit trees people had in their yards. I’ll go with them and catch up with you later tonight.”

Freedom glanced over at the scavengers loading a truck on the far side of the garden. “You’re making the civilians search for supplies, sir?”

“We are not making them do anything,” said Stealth.

“You’re at no risk,” the officer said to St. George. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to go alone?”

He looked up at Freedom and gave a faint smile. “It would if there was some way for me to bring four or five hundred pounds of fruit back on my own,” he said. “It’s not like I can throw it all in a few grocery bags and carry two in each arm.”

“I was led to believe you could carry at least three in each arm, sir.” Freedom’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faint glimmer in his eye as he said it.

“Believe me,” said St. George, “no one goes out who doesn’t want to and we minimize risks wherever we can.”

“So they’d like you to believe.”

Christian stood a few feet away with her fists on her hips. Danielle recognized it as Gorgon’s sheriff pose. The councilwoman ignored the heroes and spoke directly to Smith. “These people have endangered our lives again and again and refused to give us any voice in how we govern our lives here. It’s been a fascist dictatorship, and I wanted to make sure the proper authorities knew about it.”

St. George caught most of the sigh before it slipped out, but a wisp of smoke spiraled up from his nostrils. Danielle’s hands clenched into fists. Stealth grew very still, which he knew was a bad sign.

Smith stepped forward and pulled Christian’s hand into his. “Agent Smith, Department of Homeland Security,” he said. “I’m helping the Army out as a government liaison. You must be one of the local community leaders. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She returned the handshake after a moment of awkwardness and straightened up even more as she processed the torrent of words. “Christian Nguyen. I’ve been elected by a majority here to speak for the people of the Mount.”

“A majority of the people in your districts doesn’t mean the majority of the people here,” scoffed Danielle.

“Since your overlords refuse to hold democratic elections, we all have to make do,” said the older woman.

“I’m very sorry to hear you’ve been having problems,” said Smith. He led her a few steps away from the heroes. “We expected to hear about some problems when we encountered survivors, but we’ll be wanting a full account of everything that’s been going on for the past few years.”

“I’ll be glad to give one,” she said. “Under oath, even.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

She shot a suspicious glance back at the heroes. “I just want to make sure it’s clear who’s been doing what.”

He nodded. “I’m glad to know there are people like you here in the Mount. People we’ll be able to depend on even when things are tough.” He paused. “I can depend on you when things get tough, can’t I, Christian?”

She smiled. It crossed St. George’s mind it was the first honest, happy smile he’d ever seen on the woman’s face. “Of course you can,” she said. “I’m always honored to serve the people.”

“Excellent,” he said. He had his practiced smile up again. “I’ll be in touch on my next trip out here. Do you mind if we finish making our arrangements for this trip? There are a few things we still need to iron out.”

“Of course, Agent Smith.”

He took her hand again and gave it a single shake. “Please, just call me John.”

Christian beamed, and her eyes flashed with triumph. “Of course, John.” She squeezed his hand back and walked away.

“I take it back,” St. George murmured to Danielle. “Maybe he’s not bad to have around after all.”

A soldier stepped forward and gave Freedom a salute. “Ready to move out, sir.”

“Excellent.” He gestured them all towards the helicopter.

“Time for us to get strapped in,” said Smith.

Danielle pulled St. George aside. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? All of us heading off and leaving the Mount like this?”

“It’s not all of us,” he said. “You guys are going now. I’ll be here for another few hours, and Barry’ll probably be back before I leave. If all goes as planned, even if you decide to stay, Stealth and I will be back tomorrow night.”

“And she’s okay with this?”

“Yeah. Kind of weird, I know, but…” He shrugged.

“Just feels weird,” she said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had to say any goodbyes.”

He smiled and pushed her towards the Black Hawk. “Unless you guys run into Zzzap on the way,” he said, “or I see him here before I head out, I’ll see all of you out there later tonight.”

Smith strapped himself in with some help from one of the soldiers. He twisted his head over to look out the cabin door and up at the sky. “I wonder if he’s made it out to Krypton yet?”

“He left about half an hour ago,” said St. George, “so, yeah, everyone there’s probably sick of him by now.”

* * *

People of Krypton , shouted Zzzap in a deep, buzzing voice, I tell you our world is doomed. We must take refuge in the Phantom Zone!

“Hard as it may be to believe, sir,” said the colonel, “we’ve heard all the Superman jokes you can think of.” Shelly was in his mid-to-late forties, and in great shape whatever age he was.

Dammit, said the glowing figure. He hung in the air a good thirty feet above the helipad. Close to a dozen soldiers stood around the slab of concrete. What about the classics? Mysterious figure arrives at the Army base in the desert? The hum of his voice dropped an octave again. I come in peace. Take me to your leader.

“Are you done, sir?”

Tough crowd, he sighed. Yeah, I’m done. Thanks for humoring me.

“Of course. On behalf of the United States Army and Project Krypton, I’d like to welcome you to the Yuma Proving Ground, sir. I’m Colonel Russell Shelly.”

I’m Zzzap, but you probably knew that already. How do you want to do this?

“We can do a tour around the base,” said Shelly. “Show you the perimeter, our supplies, anything you’d like to see, sir, that’s not classified or restricted for safety reasons. I thought you might like a late breakfast first. Nothing special, I’m afraid. I think we’ve got scrambled eggs and bacon, maybe some french toast. The coffee’s not too bad, though.”

Did you say you have bacon and coffee? Colonel, you may have just become my favorite person on Earth.

Shelly gave a polite smile. “Right this way, then, sir. I’ve got clothes and your other equipment waiting by my office.”

It’s okay to say ‘wheelchair.’ It won’t come as a big surprise to me, really.

“Sorry. I have to be honest, it caught me off guard when Smith told me.”

Oh, believe me, the irony’s not lost on this end, either.

A pair of soldiers waited for them by the building. Their eyes went wide at the sight of the gleaming wraith. They had a basic wheelchair with a seat made of faded leather. One held a pair of boots in his hand and a set of camos draped over his arm.

Zzzap flitted down and tilted his head to the ground. I don’t suppose you have a blanket or something?

The colonel glanced at the wide-eyed men. “We could get one. Is it important?”

He sighed. Not really. I just hate crawling naked on hot pavement.

“If we swing around to the other side of the building, sir, there’s a small lawn. It’s not much, but it’s—”

Don’t worry about it. Can you set the clothes down there?

The soldier did as asked. Zzzap settled closer to the ground, spreading his arms and legs wide. The brilliant wraith dimmed, the air settled, and the dry sound of a vacuum being filled echoed between the buildings. Barry dropped to the steaming tarmac with a thump.

“Sonofabitch!”

“Are you okay?”

He rolled onto his side and reached for the clothes. “Scraped my hand,” he said. “Nothing I haven’t done before.” He dragged the pants across the ground and twisted his legs into them. He wrestled the sand-colored tee shirt over his head, waved off the boots, and hand-walked himself over to the wheelchair. The soldiers stepped forward and lifted him in a fireman’s carry for the last few feet, setting him down in the leather seat. One of them handed him the coat. It had been stripped of rank, but the name ZZZAP was on a velcro strip above the heart. He smiled.

“Good, sir?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks for the assist. Nice jacket.” He draped it across his lap.

“Will you need an escort, sir?”

It took him a moment to understand they were offering to push the wheelchair. “That’d be nice, thanks.”

They went up the ramp into the office building. It was spotless, and the scent of cleaning chemicals hung in the air. More than half the lights were out. Colonel Shelly pulled off his cap, revealing a wire-brush scalp. He followed Barry’s eyes up to the ceiling. “Power conservation,” he said. “We try to run as few lights as possible, even at night.”

“Gotcha.”

“I appreciate your trusting us like this, sir,” he said.

“We’ve all got to start somewhere,” said Barry. “And could you not use ‘sir’? It always makes me feel like my dad’s leaning over my shoulder.”

“Force of habit, but I’ll do my best. What do you prefer?”

“Barry. Mr. Burke if that’s too casual for you.”

“I can make do with Mr. Burke. Agent Smith tells us you’ve got almost twenty-four thousand people out in Los Angeles.”

“More or less.”

An older man was waiting for them in the officer’s mess. His uncombed beard was a mess of gray and silver, and it looked like he’d slept in his clothes for a while. He ran a finger back and forth across the tabletop, like a blind man reading a Braille headline again and again.

“This is Doctor Sorensen,” said Shelly. “He’s the scientific head of Project Krypton. Captain Freedom and the rest of the Unbreakables are the result of his work.”

Barry held out his hand. “You must be very proud. They’re pretty amazing, from what I’ve seen. Not a lot of people can take on St. George mano-a-mano , y’know?”

Sorensen looked up from the table. His watery eyes met Barry’s and he reached out to take the hand. He moved in slow motion, as if every action needed hours of rehearsal time he hadn’t been given. “Hello,” he mumbled.

“Pleased to meet you.”

The older man moved his mouth a few times, starting half a dozen words, and then went back to examining the tablecloth.

There was a small buffet set up for them. Bacon and eggs in one chafing dish, english muffins and french toast in another. Two large pots of coffee. The soldier guided the wheelchair along the table while Barry overfilled a plate. He shoved some food in his mouth while they moved.

“Oh my God,” Barry said. “You don’t know how much you miss bacon until after the zombie apocalypse.”

“We’re spoiled, I guess,” said Shelly. He and Sorensen followed behind the wheelchair with plates of their own. “The Army keeps these places well stocked, and even with the rationing we’ve set there’s still enough food here and in Yuma for another twenty-eight months or so.”

They took places at a table. Shelly paused to say a silent grace and nodded for them to begin. Barry ate with his usual gusto while the colonel took quick, precise bites.

Sorensen had a single scoop of scrambled eggs on his plate. He pushed them back and forth with the fork, still in slow motion. Every third or fourth push one of the tines would scrape like fingernails on a chalkboard. Barry glanced from the doctor to the colonel. The officer didn’t seem to register the older man’s behavior.

“How long did it take you to get out here, Mr. Burke?” Colonel Shelly asked after a few minutes of eating. “You caused a sonic boom, didn’t you?”

“About twenty minutes,” said Barry. He crunched down on another piece of bacon and let it sit on his tongue for a moment. “The sonic boom’s a bit of a trick, though.”

“How so?”

Sorensen interrupted by dropping his silverware. “Is your energy output related to caloric intake? Does your body begin to cannibalize its own muscle and bone mass after a certain point?”

“Yes and yes.”

The doctor began to tap the fingers of his left hand against his thumb. “Is it dangerous,” he said, “for you to come in contact with other objects?”

Barry folded a piece of french toast in quarters, ate it in two bites, and washed it down with a mouthful of coffee. “How do you mean?”

“I would assume proximity to you would excite molecules to some degree. Some things may incinerate or covalent bonds could break down. Perhaps even…” He stopped tapping his fingers and mimed an explosion with his hands.

“I’ve had things go bang, yeah,” said Barry. “I feel really queasy if I come in contact with too much solid matter. I think it may be some kind of psychosomatic warning or something.” He shoved another piece of bacon in his mouth and paused to yawn. “Sorry. Minor food coma setting in. It’s been a while since I got to gorge myself like this.”

Shelly sipped his coffee. “Are you short on supplies out in Los Angeles?”

“Not short, but we definitely don’t have tons of excess. Ammunition’s running low, so our scavengers are using knives and machetes a lot more these days. We’ve managed to set up a decent-sized garden in the Mount, and we’re breeding chickens in one of the other lots, so there’s meat and eggs.”

The colonel dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Where did you find chickens in the middle of Los Angeles?”

“There were a bunch of families from Mexico and South America who kept them in their back yards. Lots in Chinatown and Little Tokyo, too. Some of them found shelter with a group calling themselves the Seventeens.”

“The Seventeens?”

“They were a street gang that survived. They saw the Zombocalypse as a chance to go all Road Warrior and start their own little kingdom. When a bunch of them came to live with us, they brought about fifty chickens with them.”

“If I may,” said the doctor. His voice trailed off as he twisted his napkin once or twice. He set it back down next to his plate and smoothed out each wrinkle with his finger. “Ummmm, how did you acquire your abilities?”

Barry took another sip of coffee and cleared his throat. “There was an accident involving a particle accelerator, a liquid lunch, and a pair of rubber bands.”

Shelly smiled. The doctor looked up. For the first time in the course of the meal it seemed like he’d noticed Barry sitting there. “What did you say?” His eyes were wide.

“It was a joke. Didn’t you ever read Life, the Universe, and Everything ?”

“Was that Carl Sagan?”

“Douglas Adams,” he said, yawning again. “Is it really warm in here?”

The doctor and the colonel exchanged a look. “It’s always a little warm during the day,” said Shelly. “The curse of being in the desert. You get used to it after a while.”

Barry glanced up at the air vent. Little strips of colored paper fluttered in the breeze pumping out of it. He took in a deep breath and stopped himself before he yawned a third time.

Shelly and Sorensen looked at him. Sorensen’s eyes flitted to the coffee mug.

“You fuckers,” Barry said.

He focused inside himself, reached for the trigger in his cells that would turn him back into Zzzap, and the yawn pushed its way out. He tried to shove the wheelchair away from the table but his hands slipped and his head dropped. He heaved his chin back up, clenched his eyes shut, and tried to force the change. The trigger stayed just out of reach, and he realized he couldn’t pry his eyes back open.

He heard a clatter and felt something warm on his forehead. His last clear thought was that he’d collapsed in his scrambled eggs and it was a waste of perfectly good bacon.

There were voices he couldn’t understand, a sense of movement, and his final shreds of consciousness faded to black.