Ex-Patriots

Chapter 28 NOW

Zzzap had circled the base three times. Exes were stumbling out of the hills and traipsing across miles of sand. The wide open space made their numbers look like a lot less, but he knew he was seeing hundreds and hundreds of them. In another hour or two, at a guess, there’d be over five thousand of them surrounding the base.

There were tons of them inside, too. He’d incinerated a dozen exes (and the corner of a building) with one blast and swung down to fly straight through a group of about twenty by the base’s post exchange. Most of them were left with cauterized stumps on top of their shoulders. The skull of one exploded like a grenade when he hit its cochlear implant. He shook for a minute afterwards.

He also couldn’t spot Danielle or Stealth anywhere. Stealth didn’t surprise him, but not being able to find Danielle was bothersome. It was so rare to see her out of the armor, especially when he was Zzzap, he wasn’t sure he even knew what she looked like.

And he was starving. He almost never got hunger pangs in the energy form. It didn’t bode well for when he became solid again.

Yeah, I know, he said to no one in particular. The wraith stopped in mid-air and glared off to the east. Look, why don’t you do something useful and figure out where Danielle is?

After a moment he let out a buzzing sigh and continued along the fence line. He rounded the north-east corner of the base and saw the Cerberus armor. It was stomping down a back alley between one of the lab buildings and the hospital. Going off its body language, the titan looked lost and annoyed.

It wasn’t Danielle inside, that was for sure. The suit might look the same in visible light, but Zzzap saw a handful of things that were wrong. The heat signature was different, the reactive sensors were shimmering in an odd way, and there was a strange electromagnetic haze around every system.

He flitted down just as the battlesuit stepped out into the street that ran alongside the eastern fence. Hey, he said, did you ask anyone before you took that out of your mom’s closet?

The helmet tilted up to look at him. “Bro,” it cheered. “Man, am I glad to see you.”

I’m sure the feeling would be mutual if I had any idea who you are. So who are you? You’re not Army or they wouldn’t’ve been chasing you.

“It’s me, Cesar. From the Mount.”

Who?

“Cesar Mendoza. I work on the trucks. I used to be one of the Seventeens.”

The wraith flew back a few feet and raised his palm. Not a great character reference to pull out.

“It’s okay, bro. Same team. St. George, he vouches for me.”

Got anything to back that up with?

The titan nodded its huge skull. “Yep. He said I was…damn, something from a television show.” It reached up a hubcap-sized hand and scratched its head. “He said you guys watched a bunch of seasons together. That’s how you’d know I was okay.”

What show was it?

“Oh, come on, man. I don’t even think he told me the name.” The battlesuit snapped its fingers, a noise like a hammer hitting an anvil. “I’m five. He said to tell you I’m five. That sound right?”

It sets the stage for some IQ jokes, but that’s about it.

“About time you stopped, you bastard.”

Danielle half-jogged out of the alley to the west. She gave the Cerberus armor a glare and looked like she might take a swing at Zzzap. “I’ve been chasing you for fifteen minutes now.”

Hey, he said. I’ve been looking for you, too.

“So have I,” chimed the battlesuit.

“Here’s a tip,” she panted at the gleaming wraith. “If you want someone to reach you, try moving at less than three hundred miles an hour.”

Ahhh. Didn’t think of that. Sorry.

She rested her hands on her knees. “I think I’m going to puke.” She glanced up at the titan. “What the hell are you doing in my armor? Are you Army?”

“Nope,” said the suit. “I’m the Driver. Maybe St. George told you about me?”

He said he’s from the Mount.

“The Mount? How’d he get here?”

“Well, y’see, I switched into the helicopter while we were loading the suit up yesterday morning. Then I managed to—”

He’s been babbling a lot. The wraith tilted his head at the armor then back to Danielle. You want him out?

“Hey, whoa,” said the titan. The metal fingers came up, spread wide. “Same team, bro. Same team!”

“I wouldn’t complain about it,” she said. “Then we need to figure out how to get me in—”

“Guys, seriously,” said the titan, “you don’t want to do anything rash, because—”

Check this out, said Zzzap. He pushed his palm forward. There was a crackle of static, a flash of light, and Cesar flew out of the back of the suit. He hit the wall of the lab building and collapsed to the dirt. Cerberus froze up like a statue.

“Whoa!” shouted Danielle. “How the hell did you do that?”

Something I’d been playing with. Opposite charges attract, like charges repel. So all I needed to do was match his frequency and—

“No, I mean how did you throw him out of the suit?”

Oh, said Zzzap. I thought we were on the same page. He wasn’t wearing the suit, he was in it, like a virus or static buildup or something.

She looked at the groggy youth. “So you’ve been inside the suit all this time?” Her brow furrowed. “You were in the suit while I was wearing it?”

“Look,” said Cesar, “this is a little weird for all of us, yeah, but—”

“On your knees,” bellowed the armored titan. It stomped into an offensive posture and raised its fists. Arcs of electricity raced across its knuckles as the stunners fired up. “On your knees now and put your hands behind your heads!”

“Yeah, tried to tell you,” Cesar muttered from the ground. “There’s another guy in there.”

* * *

They’d halted the dead at the front gate. And no one else had died. That was the best Sergeant Stewart could say.

Once St. George tied the gate shut with the signpost, they’d been able to get the exes under control. Ammunition was too low to get the upper hand, though. All the soldiers could do was break even, dropping the exes at about the same rate they were reaching the fence line.

Plus the gate was coming apart. Little by little. Under Legion’s command, the exes threw their massed weight right at the gap of St. George’s knot and the simple gate hinges were squeaking again and again. Once he even caught a few of the dead men and women clawing at one of the lower hinges. They were trying to pry apart the riveted metal.

When they noticed him staring, they’d all winked at him and leered.

Then Staff Sergeant Pierce had shown up with a squad of the Unbreakables to take control, and Stewart breathed a faint sigh of relief. If nothing else, the twin mantles of leadership and responsibility were lessened a bit.

The suppressive fire halted while the super-soldiers reinforced the gate with the sandbags from the machine gun pits. They tossed the fifty pound bags the way regular men would throw a beer to one another, even Pierce with his forearm in a splint. The bags piled up against the gate and held it steady. Withered arms clawed at them.

Then the gunfire began again and Pierce’s men added their own weapons to the noise. The Bravos cut exes apart with short, vicious bursts. Bodies were falling faster than they were arriving.

Stewart heard the roar of an engine behind him, and his confidence swelled again. The truck from the armory was here with fresh ammunition. In just a few minutes things were going to be under control.

It wasn’t a truck. Not even a jeep. It was one of the Guardians from the motor pool, building up speed fast. One soldier was lugging a case of ammo and was sucked under the vehicle’s wheels in a windmill of surprised, broken limbs.

The armored car roared past Stewart, aimed straight at St. George’s knot. He caught a quick glimpse of the driver. It was a grinning soldier with pale skin and a green box on the side of its head.

* * *

In the lobby of Barracks Eight, Truman, Franklin, and Monroe took turns pounding on St. George with their rifle stocks. They started on his back, and when he tried to get away Jefferson grabbed his leg and flipped him over. The metal stocks were nicked and dented where they’d hit his bones. He rolled to the side to dodge one of Truman’s blows. The rifle cracked the tile floor and the concrete beneath it.

Freedom had punched him once, right at the start. A big roundhouse punch in the jaw. If he’d been a regular man it would’ve snapped his neck. Since he’d fallen to the ground, Kennedy had kicked him once in the gut, and Monroe twice in the small of his back.

“Stay down, sir,” said Freedom. “We do not have direct orders to kill you but I do have that authorization if you do not surrender.”

The hero threw a punch from the ground that grazed Monroe’s jaw. The man staggered back, then charged in again with an angry glare. He drove his boot into St. George’s kidneys and the hero winced. “I’m not going to surrender to a bunch of bullies in uniform.”

Truman’s rifle hit his shoulder blade and he dropped to the floor again.

“For what it’s worth, sir,” said Freedom, “I wish it hadn’t come to this. I had a lot of respect for you.”

“Yeah, you seem really heartbroken.” He got the words out just before Kennedy’s knuckles connected with the back of his skull.

“I’m just following orders.”

“Orders?” Another punch struck his head.

“You’re to be detained, and then you and your companions will accompany us to a secure facility.”

“You’ve got something—” He whuffed out a cloud of smoke as someone drove a kick into his stomach. “You’ve got something else besides Yuma?”

“That we do, sir. The Air Force’s Groom Lake facility in Nevada. Agent Smith has decided it would be a safer location.”

St. George tried to raise his head and winced again. “And, what,” he said, “you’re just going to load us on a helicopter and fly us there?”

Freedom looked down at him. “That’s exactly what’s going to happen, sir. Stealth is already in handcuffs and there’s a Black Hawk prepping.”

“In that case, captain,” he said, “for what it’s worth, I’ve been—” He coughed a stream of smoke and fire as another kick connected with his gut.

“What was that, sir?”

He rolled onto his knees and brushed the rifles away with a sweep of his hand. “I said I’ve been faking it.”

They had a moment to look confused.

And then St. George’s backhand sent Truman through the far wall of the lobby.

* * *

“Gibbs,” said Danielle, “that’s you in there, isn’t it? We’re not the enemy.”

“Doctor Morris,” said the battlesuit, “please keep your hands up. Until I get orders otherwise, I am treating the three of you as hostiles.”

“On what grounds?”

“Hijacking,” said Gibbs. The titan turned its head to Cesar. The young man stood up and dusted himself off. “I’m sure Colonel Shelly and Captain Freedom will be interested to know you brought another super-powered person with you.”

We didn’t bring him with us, said Zzzap, gliding forward.

“Keep your distance, sir,” said the battlesuit. “This weaponry might not be able to hurt you, but I’m sure you don’t want any harm to come to your friends.”

“Gibbs, come on,” snapped the redhead. “You must have seen the exes overrunning the base. You need to be dealing with that problem right now, not us.”

“Ummmm,” said Cesar, “you all hear that?”

The growl of an approaching engine came from behind the battlesuit. About half a mile down, a Humvee swung out onto Dirt Road. It took the corner so sharp the wide-bodied vehicle almost lifted onto two wheels. It roared along the fence line at close to seventy miles an hour.

In seconds it was close enough for them to see the face behind the wheel. It was a buzz-cut woman with leathery skin. There was a gash along her forehead down to the Nest unit blinking on her temple. Legion grinned at them from behind her chalky eyes.

It took Danielle another few seconds to put it together, and Cesar dragged her out of the way, back against the lab buildings.

Zzzap summoned his strength, focused, and fired a blast that just missed the speeding vehicle. He was close enough to ignite the gas tank and melt one of the rear tires, but the Humvee kept moving. The tire made it veer off to the side, and the hood ended up aimed right at the battlesuit.

If Danielle had been in the armor, it would’ve been no contest. She knew the suit and what it could do. She’d thrown cars, punched through engine blocks, and pulled apart buildings. She could’ve side-stepped and grabbed the Humvee as it sped by and either hurled it into the air or torn it apart.

Lieutenant Gibbs knew a simulator. He wasn’t used to the armor’s smooth responses. He’d already forgotten there was over a thousand pounds of battlesuit protecting him from the outside world. He acted out of instinct. A big vehicle was rushing at him. He tried to leap out of the way.

The burning transport hit the Cerberus battlesuit in the hip. The titan spun, crashed into the building a few feet from Danielle and Cesar, and collapsed in the dirt. Part of the wall crumbled, and a chunk of concrete and plaster hit the ground inches from Danielle’s sneaker.

The Humvee veered off to the right, carried by its own momentum. Legion spun the wheel and kept the pedal pressed to the floor. They heard him laugh as he rushed by.

The front corner of the vehicle hit the fence and ripped through the first layer of chainlink without slowing down. It crushed a pair of ex-soldiers wandering between the barricades and broke through the second fence. A section of chainlink twenty feet long tore loose, crumpled, and fell. One of the Humvee’s tires ripped open on the stiff wires and exploded, but the vehicle lurched on and struck one of the outer poles by the watch tower. The engine roared, the tires spun in the dirt, and with its dying breath the flaming vehicle pushed the pole over.

The fence sagged on either side and knocked down the exes pressed against it. It sprang back up for a moment, then dropped to the ground with a crash of metal. Close to thirty exes were pinned under it when it fell. Twice as many moved for the opening.

Fucking son of a bitch, said Zzzap.

* * *

Truman stumbled out of the crater in the wall, tripped over one of the dead soldiers, and crashed to the floor. By the time he hit the tiles, St. George had put down Franklin with a strike to the forehead. The hero glared at Captain Freedom across the lobby. “Did you actually think you could take me in a fist fight? Even all together?”

Kennedy tried to hit him with her rifle stock. He took the weapon away from her and broke it in half. The ammo box fell open and the belt spooled out across the floor. She drove three punches into his jaw and felt her knuckles crack on the last one.

“I mean, do you guys have any clue how far out of my league you are?” He caught Jefferson’s punch against his palm and gave the knuckles a sharp twist. They all heard the bones splinter and snap along the arm. The soldier screamed and dropped back even as the hero batted away a kick from Kennedy. “A group of first graders would have a better chance of taking out Mike Tyson. If I didn’t need you to monologue about where Stealth—”

Freedom’s double-handed blow caught St. George across the cheek. He closed in, slammed some fast punches into the hero’s stomach, and then swung his elbow up to catch him in the chin. St George staggered back into the wall. The captain moved forward and swung a backhand that sounded like a gunshot when it connected. He brought the hand back around in a punch that could dent steel.

St. George grabbed the larger man’s wrist. The punch stopped dead in the air.

“Okay,” said the hero, ribbons of smoke streaming from his nostrils. “That’s enough.” He straightened up off the wall, still holding the wrist.

Freedom stumbled back. He tried to twist his arm around, a simple break to free his hand and get control back, but the hero’s fingers were like stone. The captain twisted his free arm around and threw his weight into an elbow that connected with the middle of St. George’s forearm.

The arm was like stone, too.

Jefferson drew his SOCOM pistol left-handed and emptied the magazine at St. George. The rounds thudded and spun off his side and shoulders. The last three slapped his temple. The bullets clattered on the tile floor.

Stone.

Kennedy leaped onto his back. She got a chokehold across his neck and threw her weight onto her arm. He reached up with his free hand and swung her over onto Truman’s unconscious form.

Freedom battered at the stone arm and threw a kick into the hero’s stomach. It was like hitting a wall, and he knocked himself off balance. He would’ve fallen over if not for the iron grip on his wrist. He flailed at St. George’s chest for a moment and righted himself.

“I’m used to having to pull my punches with people,” said St, George, “so you got in a couple good shots back at the Mount. But don’t confuse catching me off guard once with being stronger than me.” He moved Freedom’s arm back and forth, and the huge officer was dragged back and forth after it.

“I’d never say I’m stronger,” said Freedom. “Just smarter.”

He made a fist around the demon fang he’d torn off St. George’s lapel and slammed it into the hero’s arm just behind the wrist.

* * *

The Humvee had left an opening in the fence line almost forty feet wide. The stumbling dead worked their way over the fallen chainlink and onto the base, their teeth chattering.

“Bro,” said Cesar. He rapped his knuckles on the steel forehead of the fallen battlesuit. “You still alive in there?”

The armor shifted and a metallic groan hissed through the speakers.

“Cool. No broken bones or nothing?”

“I…I’m good,” said Gibbs. “What the hell was that?”

“Dead girl driving a Hummer,” Cesar told him. “Look, you sure you’re okay?”

“A little dizzy.”

Danielle crouched by the helmet and looked for damage. “Is the suit okay? No problems with monitors or the reactive sensors?”

The battlesuit flailed for a moment as the arms pushed it up to a sitting position. “Power’s down to sixty-eight percent, but as far as I can tell past that, all systems read one hundred percent across the board.”

“Good,” said the redhead. She sighed. “I’m sorry about this, but I think your loyalties are a little too split for you to be of much use right now.”

Cesar’s face broke into a grin.

She glared at him. “One scratch, one circuit I need to replace, and I own you for life. Clear?”

He wrapped his arms around the armor. The air crackled as he vanished, and a few arcs of electricity danced across the helmet and chestplate. “Crystal, ma’am,” said his voice from the speakers. “Cerberus, reporting for duty.”

“Let’s get one thing clear right now,” she said as the armor clomped back to its feet. “You’re a kid with a neat power. I’m Cerberus.”

* * *

The fang ripped through St. George’s jacket and flesh. Its tip burst through the other side of his arm. Blood splashed out over the sleeve. The hero roared and it came out as a blast of fire that blinded everyone in the lobby. He let go of Freedom’s arm and the officer twisted away from the flames.

Freedom looked back and St. George grabbed him by the throat. The fang was still buried in the hero’s forearm. It was bleeding, but not enough to be fatal. Just painful as all hell. The arm stretched up and Freedom’s feet left the floor.

“We’re not going to surrender,” grunted Freedom.

“I’m not asking you to,” said St. George though gritted teeth. “Say you won if you want. I just don’t want to waste any more time fighting. My friends and I want to help.”

“One of your friends beat Colonel Shelly to within an inch of his life.”

“I don’t know what that’s all about,” said the hero, “but it’s not the issue. There’s a threat to this base we need to deal with. All of us. No one heads off in any helicopters or anything. You’ve got the manpower but we’ve got the experience with this guy. Once that’s done, you and me and all our friends can sit down and figure out who did what to who.”

Freedom glared at him. Out of the corner of his eye, St. George could see Kennedy struggling to her feet and Jefferson trying to reload his pistol one handed. Franklin and Truman began to stir.

So were the dead soldiers, he realized.

Noise burst from their earpieces and the hero saw their faces shift. It woke up Franklin and Truman, and they shot glances between Kennedy and Freedom. The captain’s jaw was still set, but St. George could see the conflict in his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

The soldiers looked to Freedom. “The main gate just fell,” he said. “Someone drove a Guardian through it. They’re getting in.”

St. George nodded at the waking exes and the bloody lobby. “What’s it going to be, captain? Help us save everybody, or do you want to keep trying to put handcuffs on me?”

Freedom’s shoulders relaxed. Just a little. “What’s your plan?”

St. George let his arm drop and opened the fingers around the officer’s throat. He tried not to wince as the muscles around the fang shifted.

“Peasy—Legion, whatever he’s calling himself now—he attacks on multiple sides. When he tried to take the Mount, that’s how he did it. I’ll bet he’s going to do the same thing here if he hasn’t already.”

Freedom and the other soldiers nodded. “Ask and you shall receive,” said Kennedy, pressing a finger to her ear, “the same thing happened at Tower Nine. The whole fence line is gone between Nine and Eight.” She glanced at St. George. “Sounds like your people are already there. Zzzap and the robot.”

“Exes?” asked Freedom.

“About a hundred with as many closing in.”

St. George pursed his lips. “Anyone got a radio?”

The teeth of one of the corpses clicked together and Truman’s boot lashed out to shatter its skull. The specialist pulled the radio from the headless body’s belt and stripped off the headset and mic. He tossed it to St. George. Catching it made the pain in his forearm flare again.

“Zzzap, you out there?”

“Hey, fearless leader,” said the radio. “We’re in hell. How are things with you?”

“He sounds normal,” said Kennedy. “Is that him?”

“It’s because you’re not hearing him, you’re hearing him broadcast his voice.” He held up the radio. “What’s going on?”

“Our boy Peasy brought down the fence at the north-west corner of the base. We’ve got a gap about thirty-five, forty feet across.”

“So I’ve heard,” said St. George. “Under control?”

“The soldiers and Cerberus—sorry, the Driver—are keeping them at bay so far.”

“Copy. Is Danielle with you?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I’m going to see if we can get some people there to assist. If you think you can spare a minute, meet me here.”

“Gotcha.”

The hero shoved the radio into the pocket of his flight jacket. Jefferson tilted his head up from the crude splint Franklin was building around his arm. “How’s he know where you are?”

“Because he could see where the signal was coming from,” said St. George. He looked at Freedom. “Where’s Stealth being held?”

“She’s probably still in the brig. Last I heard Smith had all of squad Twenty-one guarding her.”

“We need her.”

Freedom’s jaw locked up again. “She attacked Colonel Shelly.”

“Later, captain. Right now she’s the smartest, best fighter within about a hundred miles and she needs to be helping us.”

They could hear Freedom grinding his teeth but he reached for his radio. “Unbreakable Twenty-one, this is Unbreakable Six.”

“Unbreakable Six, this is Unbreakable Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one, this is Six. You are to release the prisoner named Stealth. Escort her to the main gate. We’ll meet you there. Be advised this is a combat situation and you are entering a hot zone.”

* * *

Staff Sergeant Harrison furrowed his brow and shot a look to Taylor and Polk. “Six, this is Twenty-one,” he said. “Could you repeat, please?”

“Twenty-one, this is Six,” said Freedom’s voice. “Release the prisoner and escort her to the main gate immediately. Be advised this is a combat situation and you are entering a hot zone.”

“Six, this is Twenty-one,” said Harrison. “Sir, Mister Smith was very precise with his orders on the prisoner. He believes she’ll be good leverage against the —”

“Twenty-one, this is Six,” barked Freedom. “You are not taking orders from Mister Smith, you are taking them from me. Is that clear?”

The super-soldiers shot a few confused looks back and forth. They looked at the cell Stealth was in. Then they looked at the man in the good suit sitting on the desk across from them.

Smith opened his eyes wide, as if something had just occurred to him. “They couldn’t be forcing him to say all that, could they?”

Their eyes opened wide, too. “St. George,” said Polk, “the Mighty Dragon, he’s probably strong enough to force the captain into something.”

“That fucker,” said Taylor. He wiped another thread of blood from his nose. It was still going from when the bitch kneed him in the face.

“But…” Harrison blinked and shook his head. What Smith said made perfect sense, but there was something wrong with it. Something nagging at the back of his mind. “Compromise words,” he said. “Why isn’t the captain using the compromise codes?”

Taylor frowned. “What’s today’s word?”

“Chocolate, I think,” said Polk.

“Six, this is Twenty-one,” Harrison said. “Things that bad, sir? You said this mission was going to be all cake and ice cream, remember?”

“Twenty-one, this is Six. Understood and negative. Release the prisoner and get your legs in gear.”

Smith shook his head. “Could they have learned the codes somehow? Or maybe they’ve got some of his people at gunpoint. He’d lie to keep them safe, wouldn’t he?”

“Fuck, yeah he would,” said Taylor.

Harrison stared into space and tried to work his brain around something. His own nose was bleeding, and he couldn’t remember if Stealth’s vicious attack had caused it or not.

Smith looked at him. “Staff Sergeant Harrison?”

He blinked twice. “Yes, sir?”

“I think we need to get the prisoner to the helipad and prepare to leave, don’t you?”

“Of course, sir,” said Harrison.

Smith shook his head as they moved to Stealth’s cell. “She was telling the truth about the zombie supervillain. I did not see that coming.”

* * *

“They’ve gone silent,” said Kennedy.

Freedom’s brow wrinkled.

“We’ll deal with it,” said St. George. He gritted his teeth and pulled out the fang. It was red and slick. More blood splattered out onto the floor. He dropped the fang in his pocket and squeezed his palm over the wound. “I think everyone in this building is dead. Maybe the next building over, too. How much does that hurt you, number-wise?”

Freedom glanced at Kennedy. “If they’re all dead,” she said, “it’s almost a quarter of our troops gone.”

“Can you still mount a defense? You must’ve planned for something like this, right?”

Freedom gave a sharp nod. “It’ll be difficult, but not impossible. First Sergeant,” he said to Kennedy, “operation Red Sand is in effect.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make sure your people understand they’re not fighting regular exes,” said St. George. “They’re fighting Legion. He’ll make plans of his own and react to what your people do. Or what they don’t do.”

Kennedy nodded and began to bark commands into her microphone.

Freedom looked at the hero and gave a quick nod to Franklin. “What else can you tell us about this Legion?”

“We beat him before by splitting his attention. He wasn’t experienced with his powers, so fighting on multiple fronts made him lose control and then we just focused on the man himself. It looks like his control may have gotten better, though.”

“Great,” muttered Franklin. He pushed up St. George’s sleeve.

“Stow it, sergeant.”

“Yes sir.” He pulled some disinfectant from a pouch and wiped the blood away from the wound. It was a ragged hole the size of a dime. “Shouldn’t’ve pulled that tooth out,” he muttered.

“The big problem, though,” said St. George, “is the ex-soldiers. Since he’s controlling them, he’s effectively got a thousand people on the base already. Double agents, guerillas, saboteurs, whatever you want to call them. He’s got a lot of them, but I bet they’re all going for simple goals. Even if he’s gotten better, he probably won’t risk splitting himself onto too many complex fronts.”

“Probably?”

The hero shrugged. “He’s still just a guy, and not a terribly bright one.”

Franklin mashed gauze on the bloody holes and wrapped the arm with white tape.

“Sergeant Monroe,” said Freedom, “take the rest of Eleven and clean out this building. We don’t want any surprises two or three hours from now. If it’s down, make sure it’s staying down.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” He bent down to the other twitching corpse and twisted its head around to face the floor. The body went limp.

“Jefferson, you’re with me. We need to secure the armory and make sure the perimeter holds,” continued the captain. “It’s going to be getting dark in about five hours and this situation needs to be stabilized before then.”

Sunlight poured in through the barracks door and blinded them all for a moment. So, said Zzzap, how are things on this side of the giant military deathtrap?

Freedom and a few of the soldiers glared at him.

“I want you to go with them to the armory,” said St. George. “Stay there and make sure they get everything they need.”

And then?

“We get the weapons, stop the exes, and then we go after Smith.”

Smith?

“He’s got Stealth. He’s trying to get away to a more secure base. She’s going to be his hostage to keep us all in line.”

Smith took her as a hostage? said Zzzap. Wow, talk about making a poor—

He froze and hung in the air for a moment, like a statue of light.

“Barry?”

I just want to be clear on this, said Zzzap. We need to get guns—lots of guns—and then rescue our ultra-calm leader who’s been captured by Agent Smith?

St. George sighed.

Oh, this is so going to rock!