Peter Clines: Ex-Patriots

Hovering inside the rings was the form of a man. It was a reversed silhouette, like looking at the sun through a man-shaped cutout. Arcs of energy shot from the brilliant figure to snap and pop against the copper-wrapped sphere. St. George could tell his friend was staring off into one of the stage’s empty corners.

Well, I’m still getting used to it, said Zzzap. His voice was somewhere between a kazoo and pure static, and it buzzed over the crackle of power. You have to admit, this isn’t exactly an everyday thing. And I say this as a guy who more or less turns into a small star.

As St. George approached, the gleaming silhouette turned in the air toward him.

Wow , said Zzzap. They really did a number on you.

“Who were you talking to?”

Nobody. The brilliant wraith shrugged and gestured around him. People. On the radio.

St. George nodded and ran his hand through the short strands of hair. “So, how’s it look?”

Zzzap tilted his head. You know what’s big after the Zombocalypse? Hats.

“Seriously.”

Remember when you were a little kid and your mom always made you get that page boy-looking haircut?

“How’d you know?”

It’s what every mom did.

“So it looks like that?”

Yeah, it’s a little worse, said Zzzap. It’s like a blind person tried to do a page boy with a pair of hedge clippers.

“Great.”

Zzzap shifted again. The rings crackled as he shed a few more kilowatts of power. You still heading out?

“Yeah. You still nervous?”

The wraith shrugged. It’s a big thing, he said. You and I have been over to the valley a few times but really no one’s gone there in almost two years. Hell, I think Danielle was the last one there when she came over with her Marines.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to call them ‘her Marines.’”

Whatever .

“We’ve got to go sometime,” said St. George. “We’ve cleaned out everything we can find on this side of the hills. Now it’s either the beach or the valley, and the valley’s got a lot more resources.”

I know. You have to admit, though, it’s just kind of weird. I’ve gotten used to the valley being ‘somewhere else,’ y’know?

He nodded. “There seems to be a lot of that going around,” he said. “We’re getting…insular, I guess. Is that the right word?”

Yeah .

“Plus I just had a talk with Billie about the Seventeens. We’ve got to start including them more, starting now. She’s going to have one of them come out with us.”

Really? Zzzap bowed his head for a moment. You sure you don’t want me coming out with you?

St. George shook his head. “We’ll be fine. This way you can keep Danielle powered up here and still make it out to us if anything goes wrong.”

Assuming you have time to set off a flare.

“If we don’t have time to set off a flare, there’s not much you’d be able to do anyway.” He held up his hand and counted off three fingers. “Remember, red is trouble, blue we need you but it’s not urgent, white means we’re spending the night over there.”

The wraith shuddered. Better you than me.

“Hey, it’s my last choice, too.”

* * *

Another quick flight took St. George west across the Mount to the four-story, tan and white office building called Roddenberry. It was named after the man who created Star Trek . For the past year and a half, it had served as town hall for the survivors of Los Angeles.

Stealth’s office was on the top floor. She’d converted one of the large executive conference rooms into her command center. The blinds were always shut and the lights at a dim glow. It was lit by dozens of monitors she’d pulled from every office in the building, showing constant images of every street and entrance to the Mount. George wasn’t sure how many of the cameras were pre-existing security systems and how many she’d installed herself.

She’d also moved into another room, hidden away behind a low-profile door, which she used as a spartan living quarters. He knew it was the only place she ever took her mask off. He’d never seen the room, which meant odds were no one else had, either.

“We’re heading out in a few minutes,” he said. The conference room door drifted shut behind him. “I know you’re here. Are you behind me?”

“No.” The shadows rippled between two of the windows. The glare seeping around the blinds had hidden her right in front of him. She stepped forward. “Are you positive you wish to include a member of the Seventeens in your scavenging party?”

“News travels fast.”

She rolled her shoulders and the cloak folded back away from her body. “It should not surprise you that I know such things,” she said. “Please answer the question.”

“Well, first off,” he said, “there aren’t any Seventeens in the Mount. Anyone here gave up their gang affiliation months ago. Which means they’re just people.”

“Very well.”

“And despite that, as was just pointed out to me, we’ve all been hesitant about giving these folks any trust or responsibility.”

“Trust must be earned.”

“True,” he agreed, “but if they’re going to earn it they need a chance. So I think we need to start giving them chances.” He shrugged his own shoulders. “Worst case, a bunch of people are proven right and we know some folks can’t be trusted with a rifle. Best case, we’ve got more guards and more scavengers.”

She gave a nod inside her hood. “Your logic is sound. Who will you take?”

“I tossed out a few names but I left it up to Billie Carter.”

“One of your suggestions was Fernando Gomez. I would advise against him.”

St. George glanced at the monitors. “Have you started hiding microphones or are you that good at lip reading?”

“Lip reading,” she said, “although I could have deduced he would seem like a logical choice to you.”

“And he isn’t because…?”

“He is the highest-ranked former Seventeen living here in the Mount. If your goal is to unify the two communities, you should not make your first pick the leader of one. Make it clear the person you choose is the most competent from the pool of potential candidates, regardless of their former command structure.”

“And if he is the most competent?”

“Gomez once attempted to fight Gorgon while wearing a welding mask and using the name Painkiller. If he is the most competent they have to offer, this entire discussion is moot.”

St. George smiled. For months the dead hero had been a sore spot everyone tried not to touch, even Stealth. They’d finally hit the point where they could remember him in a good light. “Two jokes in, what, six weeks,” he said. “Once you loosen up, you turn into a regular comedian, don’t you?”

“The term would be comedienne.”

“Never mind, then.”

“Are you still taking the Cahuenga Pass into the valley?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve talked it over with Luke and Billie. It’s narrow, but it’s a lot clearer and safer than the freeway. Even if I had Cerberus with me, it’d take most of a week just to clear a path from Western to the Lankershim exit. Better to stick to the surface streets. It’ll let us check some of those little shops and restaurants up at the top of the pass, too.”

Stealth gave another nod and turned her attention to the maps and charts on the conference table. “Check in with me when you return.”

“That’s it?” He said. “No good luck wishes? No kiss?”

“I do not believe in luck, George. You know this.”