Peter Clines - Ex-Heroes

They’d fallen halfway through the door, and the ex’s bulk blocked the entrance. Mark lunged in, leaping over the writhing corpse to the bathroom counter and down behind it. He wrapped his thick arm around the ex’s neck and heaved. The ex lifted another few inches and Lynne thrashed and flailed and kicked her way out from under it into the hall.

“Bee!”

“Hold it still!”

The ex’s neck popped as it twisted its head back. The jaws opened wide and it sank its teeth into Mark’s forearm, gnawing at the heavy sleeve. The fabric darkened around its brittle lips. He howled and let it fall.

Lady Bee slammed her pistol into the back of its skull. She fired three rounds and it flopped on the carpet.

Mark fell over the corpse, clutching at his bloody arm. “I feel sick.”

St. George looked up from Vermont at the sound of shots. Ilya did the same from the back of the truck. Cerberus echoed on his earpiece, “Who fired?” There was a long pause.

“Who fired?”

Lee, Andy, and Jarvis wheeled a cart full of supplies across the street. They stopped and looked around.

Above them a window smashed open. “Here!” Lynne shouted, waving an arm.

St. George threw himself into the air.

* * * *

The last shards of glass fell from the window as he soared through. “What happened?”

Lynne had pulled some hydrogen peroxide from her bag and emptied the brown bottle over his arm. “It was on her,” Mark said through gritted teeth. “Broke its own neck to bite me.”

“Stay calm,” said Lady Bee. She slapped the side of his head. “If you work yourself up it’ll spread faster.”

Lynne tore the wet sleeve away from the bite. The shirt had taken a lot of it, but there were still bloody trenches gouged out of his forearm. The flesh was getting pale.

Mark saw the fading skin. “Oh shit,” he muttered. “Shit shit sh—”

Lady Bee glanced at the hero. “We’ve got to do it.”

St. George was already leaning out the remains of the window. “BARRY!”

* * * *

In the back of the truck, Barry’s eyes snapped open, then clenched shut. He reached down into himself, found the trigger fused into his DNA, and flipped it.

Everything went white.

The blankets beneath him burst into flame as his clothing incinerated.

Arcs of raw power spat and twisted out to every metal surface. Ilya felt his skin burn and blister and threw himself off the lift gate. He blocked his eyes as Big Red ’s paint seared off down to the metal and the wooden planks lining the truck bed scorched black. Two of the solar panels flared and burst.

A second sun shot into the air. The wall crumbled to ash as the blazing wraith passed through it. The shadows fled the room. “Bite,” said St. George. “Left arm.”

Zzzap nodded. Understood. Do you have him?

Lynne’s eyes were wide and wet. “What are you doing?”

St. George grabbed Mark by the shoulders and pushed him flat on the floor. Lady Bee grabbed his wrist and stretched the arm out straight.

“What are you doing?!” Lynne tried to pull St. George away. He shoved her back against the wall with one hand.

Sorry, man, buzzed Zzzap. This is going to hurt like hell.

Mark gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded.

The gleaming outline dropped its hand. The fingers swung down and passed through the man’s biceps. There was a hiss, a puff of smoke, and Lady Bee fell back clutching the arm. Mark screamed while a scent like burnt barbeque filled the room.

Bee tossed the arm. One of her gloves came off and she crammed it in the amputated man’s mouth. “Bite down,” she told him. “Bite and try to calm down.” She wrapped her arms around him.

There was a crackle of static as St. George keyed his walkie. “We’ve got a bite, everyone. Whatever you’ve got, get it to the truck. We’re done and we’re moving out in five minutes.” He looked at Zzzap. “Get back to the Mount. Tell Connolly we’ve got wounded coming in.”

On it.

Big Red roared south on Vermont. They stretched Mark out on the panel above the cab, strapping him down for safety. Lady Bee perched by his feet. Jarvis crouched next to him with a wet bandanna and tapped the man’s cauterized stump. “Hey, stay awake.”

“I’m awake,” Mark hissed through gritted teeth. Sweat beaded across his face. “Give me another shot of the rum.”

“Top five celebrity kills. Who were they?” He held the bottle in his shaky left hand and took two awkward swallows. “Paula Abdul. Charlie Sheen. Frasier. Whatshername …

the Asian cylon from Battlestar Galactica .” His eyes fluttered. “Hey!” Jarvis grabbed the bottle and shook him. “Come on, you got to stay with me. That’s only four.” Mark blinked a few times. “Number one,” he said. “I got Trebek.”

“What? You’re lying.”

“Nah.”

“You’re delusional,” said Jarvis. He wiped his friend’s forehead. Mark shook his head and coughed. St. George swung up from the running boards. “How’s he doing?”

“Serious shock,” said Lady Bee. “Some blood loss. He’s burning up. Not a hundred percent sure Zzzap took the arm in time.”

“He’s going to be fine,” said St. George. “We’ll be home in less than ten minutes. Barry’s already there letting them know what happened.” Big Red swung hard at the intersection to add emphasis. Lynne’s knuckles were white on her rifle. “Why didn’t she just shoot it?” Cerberus looked down at her. “They’re full of disease. You were under it. If she killed it and any of the fluids got on you, you’d be the one dying right now.” She winced. “Is he dying? Are you sure?” The armored titan shrugged. “Probably.”

“STOP!!” Lady Bee pounded her hand on the cab’s roof. Luke slammed the brake to the floor and wrenched up the emergency brake. Big Red squealed on the pavement, leaving a trail of black rubber. Jarvis threw himself over Mark and pinned the wounded man down.

Cerberus staggered. Bee pitched forward off the roof of the cab and St.

George grabbed her as he lunged through the air. Both front tires exploded. The truck dropped, stumbled forward, and the rear dually tires blew out. Big Red lurched a few more feet, limp wheels slapping the pavement, and came to rest just past the intersection of Melrose and New Hampshire. “Son of a BITCH!” bellowed Luke. He pounded the steering wheel and threw open the door. St. George set Bee down on the ground. “Thanks for the catch,” she said. He nodded. “Everyone okay? How’s Mark?” There were nods and thumbs-up. Luke examined the tire. “Ruined,” he muttered. “No patching these.” St. George poked the oversized wheel. “Don’t suppose you’ve got six spares hidden away somewhere?”

“Yeah, just let me pull those out of my ass.” Luke drove his boot into the sagging tire. Cerberus glanced down the road. “How far are we from the Mount?”

“Little over a mile. Too far to walk before dark,” said Lady Bee. “A bunch of blowouts and a nice, high-pitched brake squeal on a quiet evening. Every ex for six or seven blocks is going to be headed this way.”

“Any guess how many that is?” She shrugged and held her walkie up in the air. “Five, maybe six hundred. We’re still too far to get a walkie signal.”

“We’re being jammed,” boomed the titan. “There’s something broadcasting wide-spectrum white noise nearby.” Andy and Lee were behind the truck, sweeping the road with their feet while the other riders covered them. Something on the ground clinked and Lee bent down. “Shit,” he said. “Boss, come take a look at this.”