Peter Clines - Ex-Patriots

“You’re wrong.”

Bee shook her head. “She’s just like every other frigid bitch, holding the nice guy at arm’s length and getting him to do whatever she wants.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and headed for the stairs. “Good night, George.”

“G’night.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll try again in a few months.”

Danielle had pulled the mattress off her bed months ago and set it against the wall under the all-purpose table. Once she’d blocked one side of the table with a small dresser, she could get something close to a good night’s sleep. She woke up aching from the concrete floor, but it beat laying awake in the cot all night and hearing imaginary teeth chattering in the corners of her workshop.

This morning someone was nudging her, and in her slumbering mind she wondered if it was a version of the dream where Nikolai was still alive and had gotten over his dead girlfriend. Then the nudges became prods, and after a few prods someone grabbed her exposed shoulder and shook. For a moment, in her half-awake state, she saw the dark form looming over her and thought an ex had latched onto her. She lashed out and the figure grabbed her clumsy backhand.

“Get dressed,” said Stealth. She released Danielle’s wrist. “We are needed at Four.”

Danielle threw off her covers. Even in the sweltering heat of a Los Angeles summer, she needed to feel a certain amount of weight over her to sleep. She crawled out from under the table and stood next to the hooded woman. “Where’s my crew?”

“I do not need your assistants. I need you at Four.”

“George, then? Someone’s got to help me get into the armor.” She nodded through the doorway at the half-assembled battlesuit standing in the workshop. “I can’t do it alone.”

“You do not need the Cerberus armor to come with me,” said Stealth. “Please put on whatever clothing you feel necessary. Time is of the essence.”

“Necessary for what?”

“Danielle, in one minute I am leaving,” said the cloaked woman. “You will be coming with me. What you are wearing at that point is of no consequence to me.”

Sixty seconds later Danielle tugged her shirt on as Stealth dragged her out of the workshop. The cloaked woman was like the villain in a slasher movie. Her pace never approached a run, or even a jog, but Danielle struggled to keep up.

It was barely dawn. A few last stars twinkled and faded in the steel-blue sky. “What the hell’s going on?” asked Danielle as she buttoned up her shirt.

“The Predator has returned,” said Stealth.

“Already?”

“An hour and a half ago.”

“What?” She brushed her hair out of her face. “Why didn’t Barry spot it sooner?”

“I do not know.”

“What did it do? Were they looking for us again?”

“This is why we are going to Four,” Stealth said.

There was a rush of wind and St. George landed just ahead of them at the entrance to Four. He wore full combat leathers with his sunglasses pushed up on his forehead.

“Oh, sure,” muttered Danielle, “you give him time to get into uniform.”

“It doesn’t take me an hour,” he said.

Zzzap lit up the inside of the converted stage from inside the electric chair. Took you people long enough, he said. This is why I keep insisting we need bat-poles.

Stealth walked to the cage. “Is it still circling the Mount?”

The brilliant wraith shook his head. It took off about fifteen minutes ago. It’s still in the area but I think it’s about fifty or sixty miles away.

“What were they doing?” asked St. George.

I checked out the information it was sending back to their base. Straight low-light video plus infrared imagery. Oh, right, yeah. And it listened in on a few walkie conversations. It had a good hour of watching us altogether.

“Are you sure of this?”

Pretty sure, yeah.

“Why did it take you so long to notice it?”

Well, they are passive scans and it kept a really high altitude this time. There wasn’t much to hear until it was right on top of us.

“Which was, by your estimates, seventy-five minutes ago.”

Yeah, sorry. I guess I was distracted.

St. George frowned. “Distracted by what?”

I was talking with someone. As I’ve mentioned several times, it’s boring as hell sitting in this ball all the time. Even with the awesome DVD collection.

“I was not aware of anyone else in Four this evening,” said the cloaked woman.

“Is it doing anything else?” asked Danielle. “The Predator?”

Nope. Nothing but navigational commands and some quick looks through the nose camera.

The heroes looked at each other. “Well,” said St. George, “I guess they’ve made their move.”

Stealth bowed her head. “Do you agree we should send Zzzap to investigate further?”

He nodded. So did Danielle. “We should wait until sun-up, though,” said St. George. “That way you’ve got something to hide in front of.”

Lucky me.

“Sunrise is in twenty-three minutes,” said Stealth. “I will get the generator crews prepared. It may be wise to warn the guards, as well.”

“You want to do that?” asked Danielle. “If it is the military, they’re not going to like a bunch of nervous civilians taking potshots at them.”

“If it is not the military, I would prefer to be ready.”

Guys?

“Fine. There’s enough time to get me back in the armor, then,” she said.

“I’ll help with that,” said St. George.

“Good. I don’t think anyone on my crew wakes up before nine.”

Guys , said Zzzap, you don’t have time.

Stealth looked at him, then up. In the dead silence of the morning, they all heard the noise.

Four, maybe five helicopters. They just broke radio silence. Army, by their encryption.

* * *

People woke up and dashed out of their homes at the thunderous sound of rotors. They clogged the streets and rooftops, pointing at a sight they thought they’d never see again. Some cheered. Some shrieked in fear.

St. George launched himself into the sky, fumbling his earpiece into place. He keyed the mic as he spun in the air. “Who’s with me?”

“I’m here,” said Zzzap.

“Danielle?”

“Cerberus is searching for her assistants,” said Stealth. “She does not have a radio.”

“Who’s on the wall?” called St. George.

“This is Makana,” came the voice. “What the hell’s going on, boss?”

“Just stay calm, make sure none of your people have their fingers on the trigger,” ordered the hero. “We don’t want anyone shooting at a rescue party.”

“Copy that.”

Hanging in the air two hundred feet above the Mount, St. George counted five olive-drab helicopters coming towards him in a V formation. They were fast, tilted forward with rotors aimed in his direction. Three of them had huge miniguns mounted on their noses. He was bulletproof, but wasn’t sure if his skin could take a full-speed helicopter blade.

The hero waited until the last moment and then shifted in the air. He caught a quick glimpse of one of the pilots staring at him in dumbfounded amazement and the minigun turned to follow the stare. Then the roar of rotors pummeled him as the choppers thundered past on either side.

His ears rang for a few seconds and he realized Stealth was talking to him on his earpiece. He shook his head and keyed the mic. “What was that again?”

“Two UH-60A Black Hawk transports and three Apache gunships. Are you unharmed?”

He glanced down. She was already on the peak of the water tower, staring up at him. “Yeah, they missed me. I could use an aspirin, though.”