Peter Clines - Ex-Heroes

“Go home and take a shower,” she said.

* * * *

St. George cleaned his hair, then scoured his body, then cleaned his hair again. Even through the steam and the soap, he could smell death. He scrubbed and shampooed and rinsed and repeated until the hot water ran out, and then stood in the cold for another ten minutes.

His apartment in the Mount was a penthouse compared to the place he’d had before, back when the world was alive and he was paying rent. Like most of the living quarters, it was a large office converted into a passable apartment. A living room with a couch and an overstuffed chair, a decent kitchen, and a separate bedroom. He even had some of his own clothes and belongings, not just stuff he’d scavenged since they all moved to the Mount. Being a superhero had a few perks, even after the Zombocalypse. He’d been able to fly home and loot his small studio.

He was half-dressed when someone rapped on the door. He knew the knock.

“Hey,” said Lady Bee. She held up a battered box of CheezIts. “Thought I’d stop by and check on you. And I brought food.”

“Thanks.”

“You looked like shit when we got back.”

“Well,” he said with a smirk, “there have been one or two missions when things went better.”

She let her coat slide off her shoulders. She was still wearing the too-small shirt. He could see her bright red bra. “You going to invite me in?”

He examined his bare feet. “I don’t think I’m in the mood, Bee.”

“You know you say that almost every time, right?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“People trusted me to get them home safe.”

“I know. I was holding his arm, remember?”

He sighed and stepped away from the door. She tossed her coat on the chair before flopping on the couch. “You want some crackers?”

“Not that hungry. Go ahead.”

She unzipped her boots and kicked them at the door. “Nah. They’re one of those weird flavors nobody ever liked.” She stood up, two inches shorter without the heels. “Want to watch a movie or something?”

“I don’t have anything new.”

“So what? We never see more than the first half hour anyway.” She pulled his face down and kissed him.

He pulled away. “How am I supposed to relax?”

“Well,” Bee said, “usually we take off our clothes, find a handy piece of furniture, and spend half an hour or so thinking very naughty and improper thoughts.” She tugged at the bottom of her shirt and two buttons popped open. She gave him a wink and pulled at another one.

“Seriously.” He ran his fingers through his long hair. “This was a fucking disaster. What are people going to think?”

She sighed and let go of the shirt. “They’re going to think you’re human.”

“I’m not human. I can’t be.”

“Trust me, I’ve checked. You match up. Just a lot more stamina.”

“We’re symbols. All of the heroes. People look at us and think we can still fix everything.”

“You’re a symbol, yes,” she said. “But you’re still a guy. A guy who just had a very shitty day and needs to remember there’s more to life than that. If you want to mope all night, fine, that’s your choice. We’ll eat stale Cheez-Its and watch a movie and not talk. Personally, I’d like to get over today with a hard, fast fuck, maybe followed by a long, slow one.”

“I’m still not sure I’m in the mood.”

She yanked the shirt open the rest of the way. The red bra was low-cut and edged with little satin frills. “Give me five minutes and I can change your mind.”

“Bee …”

“Two minutes if you let me take your pants off,” she said and ran her tongue across the edge of her upper lip. “If you like, I could even wear a cape and a black pillowcase over my head.”

“Cute.”

“You’re not saying no, though.”

Bee pushed him back into the chair and climbed on top of him. He could feel things stirring in his pants, despite himself, and he pushed his palms up along her warm, smooth back. “You realize we’ll be up all night,” he said as she kissed his neck. “Exhausted all day tomorrow.”

“We’d better be if you know what’s good for you.”

She pressed herself against him, he grabbed her, and they forgot the day.

SWAT Sergeant Hall considered telling me to leave, or perhaps something more emphatic. I could see it in his eyes. If he could see my face, I am sure he would have nodded and ignored everything I said, even though I had saved his life on two separate occasions. The mask over my face is a relief. It covers my eyes, nose, cheeks, and lips. It hides my curse and makes discussions such as this one easier.

I have become known as Stealth, although it is not a name of my choosing. I believe some people consider it a “sexy” name appropriate for a female hero. I am, in fact, a beautiful woman and have been all my life. It has never made a difference to me, and I have made no special efforts or arrangements to either preserve or enhance my looks, but I have been reminded of this fact by every man I have ever met and several women as well. In that sense, beauty has become like a rash I cannot rid myself of, but is not worth the effort of removing by some drastic measure.

“You cannot reason with them,” I told Hall again. “They cannot be intimidated by displays of force or numbers. Your men must begin aggressive measures if you hope to hold them back.”

“And by aggressive you mean killing them?” He glanced back at the wall of riot vehicles waiting to move out. In the distance we could hear the loudspeaker warnings and faint cries. “I can’t order my men to fire on sick civilians.”

“If it helps you and your men, by any possible definition the infected are already dead. As the president said in his address, they are exhumans, no longer alive.” I gave a slow nod from my position on the wall. A quick-release carabiner on a drainpipe created the illusion I was clinging to the bricks above him, yet another sleight of hand to give me power and authority. “Do not attempt shots to cripple or immobilize. They will have no effect. Only decapitation or destruction of the brain.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need to hear more of this zombiemovie bullshit.”

“It is the most effective method.”

“Great. Maybe next we can try fighting them with the Force.”

One of the other SWAT officers shouted above the din. “Snipers have movement three blocks south. A group of infected coming this way.” They looked to Hall for a decision.

I understood bad decisions. As a junior in high school I participated in three successive beauty pageants: Teen California, Teen USA, and Teen Universe. The Teen Universe was the one I was interested in because it came with a full scholarship to the college of my choice. Winning the other two were merely requirements in reaching that goal. In retrospect, this chain of decisions may have been the worst mistake of my life.

My eyes met his again. “I understand your frustration, Sergeant Hall, but we are running out of time. The chances of containing this outbreak are already low.”

“Do you know what’ll happen if we start shooting at civilians?”

“I have an excellent idea of what will happen if you do not.”

He shook his head. “The CDC will be here in—”

“They will not come,” I told him. “There have been major outbreaks on the east coast around Washington. All resources are being focused there. It is up to you and your men to contain this here. I will give you all the help I can.”

Another call came from the vehicles. As Hall turned, I reached back, released the carabiner, and swung to the left. The trick to moving swiftly while climbing is using your arms and minimizing your legs. I slid around the corner and up.