Peter Clines: Ex-Patriots

The night breeze swept the black cloak away from Stealth’s body. As the folds of fabric opened up, they revealed the array of straps and sheaths crisscrossing her skintight uniform. Her boots shifted on the water tower’s sloped peak until the warm wind died down and her cloak and hood settled around her again.

Her featureless mask looked down at the figures gathered around the base of the tower. They filled the streets of the modern-day fortress which had come to be known as the Mount. Some of them staggered and made awkward lunges at each other. Many of them were eating. Shouts and cries echoed up to her.

She shook her head and turned to the man hanging in the air near her. “This is a waste of time.”

“No, it isn’t.”

St. George, once known to the world as the Mighty Dragon, floated next to the tower and ordered gravity to ignore him. A solid six feet tall, his body was well-muscled but leaned towards wiry. His leather jacket, the same golden brown as his shoulder-length hair, was decorated with sutures and grafts. At this point it was two jackets stitched into one. A five-inch tooth was tied to the coat’s ragged lapel with thin straps.

Stealth glanced over her shoulder at the building that served as her office and the de facto town hall. “We should be drawing up schedules for this week’s construction. The north wall is close to done.”

“It can wait,” he said. “They all need this. They probably don’t even know how bad they need it.”

“So you keep insisting.”

Below them, the celebrating people packed the streets and alleys. Families gathered on the rooftops. They cheered and laughed and called out to one another. Even the guards along the wall seemed more relaxed.

“You’re grumpy,” said Claudia. She picked her nose while she stared at Stealth.

Inside her hood, Stealth turned her head to the little girl perched on St. George’s left shoulder. “I am practical.”

“She is very grumpy,” St. George told the child, “but we’re working on it.” He pulled his arm across her legs like a seatbelt and spun around in the air.

“Go higher!” yelled Timmy from the other shoulder.

“Actually,” said the hero, “I think time’s up for you guys. Down we go.”

“No!” the boy shrieked.

“Goodbye, grumpy lady,” said Claudia with a wave.

St. George drifted down to the crowd and handed the kids off to their parents. Dozens of little arms reached up but he waved them off. “No more rides for now,” he told them. “Show’s going to start soon.”

A few yards away, the blue and silver form of Cerberus waded through the crowd. The battle armor towered over the tallest citizens of the Mount. Most of their heads didn’t reach the American flags stenciled across its gleaming biceps. The metal limbs were extended out, and gleeful children swung from each massive forearm.

The titan’s armored skull looked up at the sky with lenses the size of tennis balls, then back to St. George. The armored suit was androgynous, but after working with its creator for so long George tended to think of it as female. He gave her a thumbs up and got back a nod from the helmet.

He looked up to the star-filled sky and keyed the microphone on his collar. “Hey up there. You ready to do this?”

Far above the Mount, one of the stars swung back and forth through the sky, tracing zigzags and figure-eights across the night. Barry’s voice echoed in St. George’s earpiece. “Yep.”

“No problems?”

“No, of course not. What could go wrong?”

“Didn’t you say something yesterday about setting fire to the atmosphere?”

“Well…yeah,” Barry said after a brief pause. “But the chances of that happening are really miniscule.”

From inside the Cerberus armor, the voice of Danielle Morris echoed across the channel. “You could set part of the atmosphere on fire?”

“Not part of it,” said Barry. “Look, the odds are slim to none, seriously. There’s a better chance of one of us getting—wow.”

“What?”

“I just got struck by lightning up here. What’re the odds of that?”

“Quit it,” growled Cerberus. She set down the children who were climbing on the armor.

“Trust me,” said Barry, “everything’s going to be fine. Make your little speech.”

St. George gave the armor a smile as he drifted upwards. Another round of cheers broke out as he spiraled into the air, and several bottles saluted him. Matt Russell’s homebrew reserves would be gone after tonight. The hero gave the crowd a wave and soared back to the top of the water tower.

Stealth was watching the walls when he landed next to her on the sloped peak. “Are you certain all guards are on duty tonight?”

“Yes,” he said. “And so are you or you would’ve already dealt with it. Try to relax for one night, okay?”

She said nothing.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed Cerberus from below. With the suit’s speakers at full volume she was louder than a bullhorn. The voices quieted.

“A year ago,” she continued, “we’d barely been in the Mount for eight months. We were all still working around the clock just to make this place livable. There was no time for fun. No time for celebration. It was all about survival.” She paused and let the echo of her voice fade. “And not all of us survived.”

The crowd murmured its agreement, and a few more bottles were raised.

“So this year, we wanted to make sure everyone remembered the day and everyone had time to celebrate. We’re alive. We’re together. Happy Fourth of July.”

There was a rumble of thunder and a bright red flower of light filled the sky. A moment later a white blossom appeared next to it, followed by a blue one. Cheers rose and spread out across the Mount. Hundreds of children screamed with joy. The lights faded and four more bursts went off in a row. The sharp thunderclap of a distant cannon echoed in the sky.

Barry’s voice came over the radio again. “I thought you said you were going to do the President’s speech from Independence Day ?”

“No,” said Cerberus, “you kept saying I should do it. I ignored you.”

“That’s such a great speech.”

“Weren’t you about to blow up again or something?”

Above the Mount, the night sky lit up with another burst of light. The applause echoed for blocks. St. George keyed his mic again. “How long do you think you can keep this up?”

“I can probably do another ten or twelve like this,” said Barry, “maybe a dozen quick ones as a grand finale. You can’t have fireworks without a finale.”

“Not going to be too much for you?”

“I had a big dinner.” Two more bursts lit up the sky, followed by another thunderclap. “Besides, this is totally worth it for the view. I can see most of North America. The top of South America, too, I think.”

“Wow,” said Cerberus. “How high up are you?”

“Pretty high. I just dodged a satellite.”

“Wait,” said St. George. He looked up at the sky and tried to spot Barry’s gleaming form between the stars. “You’re out in space?”

“Technically, yeah,” Barry said over the speaker, “but I was joking about the satellite. I’m right about at the Karmann Line.”

“Are you…okay with that?”

“Well, it’s not like I need to breathe or anything. And this way we’ve got the ozone layer between me and Earth, just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Hey, I’m letting off a lot of energy here. Some of it’s going to slip into the more dangerous wavelengths. Can’t be helped.”