Peter Clines - Ex-Heroes

“SHIT!!” Luke tensed and stood up in his seat. Big Red squealed, tires smoking as it slid forward another twenty feet. Shouts came from the back as the guards were thrown forward.

Cerberus tried to dodge and smashed her shoulder into the driver’s side corner of the truck. Big Red lurched, the fiberglass sides crumpled, and the battlesuit spun away, stumbling over a low sports car and crashing down on the sidewalk on top of a crawling ex. Her screens went gray for a second as the computers tried to keep up with the whirling images.

Inside Cerberus, Danielle tried to clear her head. Even with the armor it had been a hard hit. She blinked a few times and the suit tried to interpret the subtle commands, racing through half a dozen views and status reports as it tried to get the cameras back online. The flashing screens didn’t help her throbbing skull.

“Chains,” shouted Luke. “They’ve got the whole road trapped!”

Big Red ’s tires sent up white smoke as the truck reversed. Cerberus pulled herself up with a parking meter, crushing it in the process. “Where to?”

“Side street,” shouted Luke.

She shook out her electronic limbs and ran past the truck. She could hear the Seventeens getting close. She glanced down Marathon and the targeters highlighted the line of spikes. “Wait!” She grabbed the chain and yanked it free of a bolt on the north side of the street.

The truck spun in a violent three point turn behind her. “Clear?”

“Clear.” There was a classic Volkswagen Bug parked in a driveway. She glanced at her power levels as Big Red raced past her and debated throwing it at the dump truck. Instead she whipped the chain out onto Western just as one of the pickups roared into view. The spiked links caught one of the Seventeens in the head with a flash of red and yanked him from the back of the truck.

The pickup’s engine roared and it shot forward. She lunged and drove her fist through the grill. The engine block crumpled beneath her knuckles as her punch pushed it up into the cab of the truck. The Ford twisted into scrap around the titan, carried onto her arm by its own momentum. Two red-centered spiderwebs blossomed across the windshield where the driver and passenger slammed forward. One of the bed passengers sailed over her shoulder.

The garbage truck shrieked to a halt out on Western and a few more rounds pinged off her armor. She kicked free of the ruined Ford and headed west after Big Red . Behind her she heard the steel tusks of the garbage truck hit the pickup.

Luke cut onto St. Andrews Place. In his side mirror he could see the blue and silver titan thundering down the road behind him.

Ahead of them the Dodge pickup squealed in, grinding an ex beneath its tires and blocking the end of the street. Luke hit the brakes and threw Big Red into reverse.

Cerberus skidded to a halt, sparks shooting off her feet. Her targeters locked onto the Dodge. A bullet clanged on her shoulder. The battlesuit tallied enemy weapons and manpower. She ached for her missing cannons and imagined the truck exploding into the air.

Behind them, the garbage truck rolled across the north end of the street. On its grill, the dead thing twisted and pulled, its eyes locked on Cerberus. She tried not to look at it.

A hail of shots rang out. Ty’s neck flashed red and he fell back with a thud. Jarvis threw himself to the left just as a second shot sprayed part of his shoulder into the back of the truck. Billie and the rest dropped behind the steel lift gate. Cerberus could hear them cocking rifles.

She stomped forward and spread her arms. Behind her Luke gunned the engine, letting Big Red shudder.

A pale, bald man with a goatee crawled from the back of the garbage truck onto the cab. Half his face was tattoos, and he was dressed in the colors of the Seventeens, with a green shirt and a bandanna tied on one arm. His AK was held out away from his body. Around his feet, the other Seventeens kept their weapons aimed at Cerberus and Big Red .

“Hey, big girl,” he shouted with a grin. He gave her a lazy salute from his sunglasses. “If you all done running, mind if we talk for a minute?”

* * * *

The ex with the engraved tooth was sprawled across the cot. As the midday sun blasted into the small space it twisted its head up to the door. It lay there with its blank eyes facing into the glare.

Gorgon stepped back and Stealth watched it for a moment. “Why isn’t it attacking?” she asked the other hero. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“Are you Stealth? It’s hard to see with the light. You’re just a hot little blob of shadows.”

For the first time since Gorgon met her, the woman in black froze. He’d done the same thing ten minutes ago.

The dead thing brushed itself off with slow, deliberate motions. Then it stood up from the cot and bowed with a grin. “I come bearing a message,” croaked the ex, “from my chief, the Boss of Los Angeles.”

I have to admit, it’s a little creepy when their necks snap. Stealth says they don’t feel any pain. It’s like breaking a toy more than killing something. Gorgon agrees with her. But it’s still such a creepy noise.

Kick. Back flip. Crouch. Sweep. Lunge. Springboard. Snap. For the most part, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. I’m two or three times faster than a normal person. When you consider these things move at maybe quarter-speed, it’s almost impossible for them to touch me. There was a scary minute a few days ago when I got surrounded by them, but once I calmed down I got out of it. Stealth was right—-she’s always right. You can get out of anything with your brain first, your fists second.

Spin kick. Spin kick. Roundhouse. Snap. Flip up to the fire escape.

Hands down, the worst part of this whole crisis was telling Mom and Dad the truth about my “part-time tutoring job.” With martial law and a national quarantine, they weren’t going to buy my usual “off to the library, back late” excuse. Still, the whole country’s being overrun by zombies and I had to argue with them before they’d let me out of the house.

Swing. Launch. Bounce. Flip kick. Snap.

And what was the huge issue? Were they upset their oldest daughter was some kind of mutant? That I’d been risking my life and fighting crime since sophomore year of high school? That I’d lied to them?

“You can’t be Banzai!” cried Mom. “Banzai is a boy. It was in the paper.”

“Yeah, I know. It helps hide my identity.”

“That name,” shouted Dad. “How could you pick a Japanese name for yourself? You’re Korean!”

“It’s a word. It’s just a word.”

“Your grandfather died fighting the Japanese! He died at the hands of people who used that word as a battle cry, and now you use it like some sort of badge of honor.”

“But how could anyone think you were a man? My beautiful girl.”

“I wear a mask, Mom. And let’s face it, Sarah got the …she got your figure. She’s fourteen and she’s bigger than me.”

The discussion went on like that for an hour. I even had to prove it, showing them the costume, doing a couple jumps around the room. And then another hour convincing them I needed to go help out.

Vault. Flip. Split kick. Bounce. Snap. Bounce. Snap. Bounce. Snap.

God, it’s sick, I know, but I am still loving this. After a lifetime of being the quiet girl who sat off to the side, becoming the fastest, wildest, most colorful hero in the city was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Half a dozen exes down and I swung up the fire escape to the roof. I needed to find the rest of my team.