Peter Clines - Ex-Patriots

* * *

“Son of a bitch, that was close,” said Makana. He stared up at the pre-dawn speck that was St. George. So did most of the gate guards. The helicopters weren’t the bright red and white rescue machines he’d dreamed of before coming to work. These were dark, vicious hunters.

One of the men on duty, a skinny guy named Matt, split his attention. He reached through the gate with his pike and jabbed an ex in the shoulder. “Doesn’t this guy look familiar to you?” It was a tall man with dark hair and a square jaw. The flesh was missing from one side of his skull and the coat sleeve on that side was frayed and shredded, as if the dead thing had been dragged along some coarse surface for miles.

They glanced at him. “Dude,” said a heavyset man with blond dreadlocks. “You’re thinking about points? Now?”

“I’m just saying,” said Matt, “I think this is somebody famous.”

“So what?” snapped Makana. He’d grabbed a set of binoculars from the guard shack and was trying to focus on the flying hero.

“If it’s someone famous, one of you guys needs to vouch for me.”

“Get your priorities straight,” said a skinny woman. She snatched the binoculars from Makana.

* * *

Danielle dashed through the workshop door just as the helicopters blasted through the air above the Mount. The Cerberus Battle Armor System still stood in the center of the floor, soaking up power through a thick cable. Its arms and back rested in special foam molds on the oversized work tables, and the armored head glared at her from its own spot.

None of her crew were there.

“Come ON!” she snarled. She yanked off her shirt and kicked her pants away. She ran to the suit and up the short ladder standing behind it. Her hands gripped the armored shoulders and she lowered her own legs down into the titan’s. She leaned forward into position and felt the tiny pricks and tingles of the sensors as they settled against her body.

Any instant now, she knew, her six hand-picked, trained assistants would rush through the door. They would put her arms in place, seal her in the armor, and she’d be strong again. When they were in top form, they could do it in just over an hour.

No one came through the door.

Danielle shouted out a stream of curses that echoed around the workshop.

When they faded she was still alone.

“Goddammit,” she yelled, “somebody help me get back in the armor.”

She was so close to being safe she almost cried.

* * *

In the dim light St. George could just see the helicopters up over the Hollywood sign, swinging around to the east. “I think they’re coming around for another pass. Do you want me to—”

“No,” said Stealth.

“They just—”

“No one has been injured. That was not an attempted attack. They were caught off guard by the sight of you.”

“It’s not like they didn’t know we were out here.”

“It is one thing to know a flying man exists,” said Stealth. “It is quite a different thing to see him in person.”

“Put me in, coach,” said Barry’s voice. “I can do more good up there.”

“No.”

“But I can—”

“If the power were to go out just as a squadron of military helicopters arrived, it would cause chaos throughout the Mount. Maintain your position.”

The helicopters roared forward again. This time St. George stood his ground in the air, arms crossed over his chest. They crossed the miles between them in seconds. He was tensing in the air when they pulled up to hover a hundred or so yards away from him.

A full minute passed as the hero and the helicopters stared at each other five hundred feet above the Mount.

“They’re all talking about you,” said Barry over the earpiece. “Three of them are pretty sure you’re the Mighty Dragon and two think you’re somebody new. They’re not quite sure what to do.”

“Well,” said St. George, “let’s make sure they know who they’re dealing with, then.” He took in a quick breath and tasted a familiar sizzle at the back of his throat. He turned his head to the side and puffed it out as a fireball the size of a Volkswagen.

It made his point. Four of the helicopters split off. Three of them were the Apaches with miniguns. They circled in the air and fell back half a mile or so. St. George squinted down at the dark shape on top of the water tower. “Any idea what’s going on?”

“You would need to confirm from your position,” said Stealth, “but I believe they have retreated to just beyond the Big Wall.”

He looked down and tried to pick out streets in the pre-dawn gloom. She was right. He could see the rough, uneven line of stacked cars running up Vine and across Beverly. “Good call,” he said. “Any idea why?”

“They are respecting our airspace,” she said.

“Our what?”

“ARE YOU THE MIGHTY DRAGON?”

The amplified voice echoed in the air for a moment. The lone Black Hawk had turned its side to St. George. A young-looking man in a dark suit waved to him from the open cabin door. He wore a bulky headset with cables that ran back into the helicopter.

“If someone asks if you’re a god,” said Barry’s voice, “you say yes.”

“It is a test of trust,” said Stealth. “You have demonstrated who you are. They wish you to confirm their beliefs.”

“You don’t have to talk me into it,” he told them. He cupped his hands to his mouth and tried shouting back, but he was pretty sure the people in the Black Hawk couldn’t hear him over the rotors. After a second attempt he gave an exaggerated nod of his head. The man in the suit smiled.

“WITH YOUR PERMISSION, WE’D LIKE TO LAND AND SPEAK WITH YOU.”

He glanced down at the tower again. Stealth had vanished. “Thoughts?”

“Direct them to the Plaza parking lot,” said her voice in his ear. “I shall meet you there.”

St. George looked behind him and to the left. The Plaza lot was right by the Melrose Gate, separated by a line of shrubs in heavy planters and some fencing. Because it was so close to the outside it had never been populated with tents or shanties like so many other spaces. He drifted through the air toward it and pointed down at the open expanse.

The helicopter shifted in the air. “WE’RE GOING TO CALL IN THE OTHER BLACK HAWK TO SERVE AS A GUARD,” said the man in the suit. “JUST THE ONE. IS THAT OKAY WITH YOU?”

St. George gave another big nod. The man gave him another smile and a thumbs up. The hero dropped down a hundred feet or so and glided over to hover near the lot. The helicopter swung in a low arc to place itself over the wide square of pavement. The air thumped as another craft moved forward to hang high above the landing zone. St. George saw a handful of soldiers in full battle gear looking at him from the second Black Hawk’s cabin doors.

He drifted down to meet the man in the suit.

* * *

“I’m telling you,” said Matt, “it’s that guy from that space cowboy show that was on a couple of years ago.” He jabbed the dead man again. “You can’t see that?”

The other gate guards ignored him. Even the exes at the gate seemed distracted by the roar of the landing helicopter. Some of them were reaching up, as if their bony fingers could pluck the vehicle from the air.

The rail-thin woman glanced at Makana. “Who do you think it is?”

He shrugged. “Army, maybe. Or the Marines.”

“It’s the Army,” said Matt, glancing back from the gate. “Check out the markings.”

Makana shrugged again. “If you say so.”

“Is anyone going to look at this ex? I’m telling you, it’s whatshisface. Nathan something.”

“Dude, whatever,” said the dreadlocked man. He gave the zombie a quick look. “Yeah, it’s probably him.”