Peter Clines - Ex-Heroes

“He can’t,” I said. “Stealth said so.”

Nick shook his head. “He can’t help people who’ve changed. You’ve just got a bite. He can heal it. Remember when he healed your broken leg? My gunshot?”

“Do we have enough time?”

“We’ve got plenty, babe. Plenty of time. A couple hours, at least. And he’s just over in Hollywood. Not even two miles from here.” He slid a phone from his belt. “You sure?”

“I am so sure.” Then, to his phone, “It’s Gorgon. Where are you? Banzai’s been bitten.”

He was listening when I heard the screams. Two voices. Man and a woman. West of us. It took my mind off my shoulder.

“No, it was just a minute ago. I cleaned it out.”

“Nick,” I said. “Did you hear that?” The male voice was shouting orders. A warning? I couldn’t make out the words, but I could tell he was slipping into fear. I’d heard that edge on a lot of voices lately.

Nick nodded at the phone. “Hollywood and Cahuenga? We can meet you there in twenty minutes.”

I swung my arm a few times. Not stiff, not too weak. The shoulder was already getting numb. I knew that was a bad sign, but it also meant I could start using it again. I pulled my top shut and retied the sash.

The cell vanished back into his belt. “He’s waiting for us there. The National Guard has an emergency medical center set up. You’re getting top priority.”

I finished the knot and shook my head. “The people first.” The bloody shoulder ruined the colors of my outfit, but I didn’t think anyone we met was going to complain. I headed west. “You coming?”

“Damn it, Kathy!”

“We can’t leave them. Plenty of time, remember?”

Down on Fairfax there were nine exes. Three people. Two girls and a guy. One of the women was already down. The exes were closing in, but still wide.

Plenty of room. Just the way I liked it.

Nick caught up with me. Without the helmet he looks so hot in his Gorgon outfit. I kissed him on the cheek. “We help them,” I said, “and then we go meet up with ‘Genny.”

I hurled myself off the rooftop. Spun on a lamp post. Double flip. Split kick. Snap. Crouch. Sweep. Hammer kick. Snap.

God, I love this.

Cerberus cranked her speakers and her voice boomed across the street. “You want to talk, be quick. That other truck’ll be back in a few minutes with reinforcements.”

The bald Seventeen barked a laugh and gestured to someone out of sight. Half the chains dropped from the front of the garbage truck.

The beast darted forward, its talons scraping on the pavement, and got yanked back by the remaining chains. Even dead, it was fast. When the ex moved, the silver pendant bounced on its bony neck, half-bound by the collar they’d put on it.

“Is that what I think it is?” whispered Andy.

“Yeah,” Cerberus said. There was a metallic hiss to her voice when she whispered. “That’s Cairax.”

“Shit.”

It was hairless, and death hadn’t changed its leathery skin much from the splotchy purple of a fresh bruise. It was still gaunt, and even with its curved spine it was as tall as Cerberus. Its head was like a monstrous deep-sea fish, with cloudy, saucerlike eyes bent in a permanent scowl by the thick brow ridge, and a forest of fangs and tusks jutting out past its lips. The long, spidery fingers each ended in a knifelike claw. Its tail dragged on the ground, the barbed end twitching now and then.

“You and I both know they didn’t hear your radio,” the bald man said. “So you’ve got about ten minutes for that truck to get home and another twenty to get back here.” He pointed down at the beast. “How many people can he kill in that time?”

Cairax lunged again and the garbage truck shook as the chains went tight.

A quick blink shifted her screens and gave her picture-inpicture of the rear-view cam. She could just see Andy’s profile behind the lift gate. “Who’s hurt?”

“Jarvis is bleeding pretty bad but I think we’ve got it. Ty …I think Ty’s dead. Half his throat’s gone.” There was a pause. “We’ve got four guns on Cairax’s forehead.”

“He’s bulletproof,” hissed Cerberus. “He’s mine. Get baldy.”

The Seventeen banged on the roof of the garbage truck with the AK’s stock. “You all done whispering over there?”

“You wanted to talk,” she thundered. “Talk.”

“Here’s the deal,” shouted the bald man. “They all drop their guns, you get out of the suit, we take everyone hostage, and you all get to live.”

“Hostage?”

“Our chief wants one of your people. And all the guns you’ve got in your little film-studio fort. Your ninja-woman boss trades the man and the guns for all of you. Everyone goes home happy.”

“And then we’ve got no weapons and you march in.”

He barked out another laugh. “No weapons? You looked in the mirror, big girl? Your side has all the best weapons. You’ve got all the living weapons.”

“And you’ve got some dead ones.”

“A few,” he said with a smile.

* * * *

“The Boss of Los Angeles,” repeated Stealth.

Within the cell, the ex nodded. “You want to hear it all now or you need a minute? I know this messes with people the first time they see—”

“Speak.”

“Game’s changed. We’re expanding and you’ve barely survived until now. You can keep your home here on one condition.”

“Which is?”

The ex held up his arm and pointed a pale finger past her. “We want him.”

Gorgon raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“You’ve fucked with the SS since you first appeared,” said the dead ganger. “We owe you big time, all of us. We’re going to torture you for a month, bleed you a drop at a time, and then choke you with your own balls. And after you die, you’ll come back and we’ll do it all again.”

“I’m shaking,” said Gorgon.

Stealth held up a hand. “Who is your leader?”

“He’s the Boss of LA, head of the Seventeens. He rules this city except for one little fort here in Hollywood.”

“That does not tell us who he is.”

“Everyone called him Peasy on the news,” grinned the dead thing, “so that’s what he’s been using.”

A long moment passed before Stealth tipped her head. “Is there any more to this message?”

“Figured you’d send a team out for the truck we spiked last night. Some of our people are taking them hostage right now. You get them when we get the eye-guy.”

“I doubt that will happen.”

It grinned, showing off the pentagram. “I don’t. Got a few superpowers of our own these days.”

* * * *

Cerberus shifted, her feet scraping on the pavement. “And if we don’t feel like being hostages?”

The bald man looked down at the straining thing on the front of the truck. “I let the demon loose and take anyone it doesn’t eat.”

“It’ll go after your people, too.”

He shook his head. “No,” he grinned, “it won’t. Any other clever ideas?”

She heard a faint scrape and looked back again. Another rifle barrel had slid out, peeking over her shoulder. She switched back to main view and tried to see the bald man’s eyes behind his sunglasses. “I’m thinking I could throw your big bad truck half a block once I tear the demon’s head off,” she growled.

“You got to get current, big girl,” the Seventeen said. He slung his AK back over his shoulder and waved his arms at the buildings around them. “You’re still thinking then, not now. We’re the way things are, the way they’re going to be from now on. We’re the majority. You need to get out of this superhero-survivor mentality if you plan on seeing Christmas.”