Peter Clines - Ex-Heroes

The youngblood’s legs trembled under the impact and he nodded his head. They guided him past the giant to an old woman who washed out the wound and sponged the gore from his shoulders. Her peroxide foamed on his skin. The bodyguard was already slashing the next palm.

“Deliberate infection,” mused Stealth. She lowered the camera.

“Followed by immediate disinfection. If this is patient zero, maybe he’s got some purer strain of the ex-virus. Could be why some come back smart. He obviously is.”

“Perhaps. I do not believe it is an ex,” she said. The infrared monocular was pressed up to her eye again. “Its body temperature is seventy one degrees. Twenty degrees higher than the average ex.”

“And almost thirty lower than the average human,” said St. George. “What the hell is he, then?”

“I am not sure.”

“Doesn’t look like he’s got universal appeal, either.” Half the mob shifted on their feet, not cheering with the hardcore Seventeens near the stage. The crowd members toward the back studied the ground or cast wary eyes at the ritual the huge ex was conducting.

“I would guess many of them did not realize they were sheltering with a street gang, let alone one led by a monster. They were looking for safety.”

The ex turned to the group that had crossed the stage. Each of them had tied their hand in a swatch of green even as he rewrapped his own. “You’re in forever now,” he bellowed. “All of you. Even if you die, even if you come back, you’re always a Seventeen.”

He slammed his hands together once, twice, three times. The crowd picked up the applause. The youngbloods caught dozens of backslaps, headrubs, and arm punches.

“Getting close to two years since I got this.” Mighty Joe continued. “Two years since I became the biggest boss in the city. Getting bigger and badder every day.” He flexed arms like beer kegs and the crowd whistled and shouted.

“Everybody went down except us. The Bloods, the Crips, the XV3s. The police caved, the Army caved, even the fucking Marines went down. And we’re still here and we’re deep!”

He punched the air again. The Seventeens in the crowd howled and raised their weapons. A few shot at the sky. The exes threw up their arms. A low chant worked its way through the crowd and faded just as quick.

St. George tilted his head. “What are they saying? Ammo?”

“I believe they were calling him master of Mary. I am not sure of the refer …” She paused and her body stiffened. “That is not patient zero.”

“How do you know?”

“A connection I should have seen earlier.” Her words were almost lost in Mighty Joe’s next bellow.

“We’re the best, the strongest, the fucking chosen of God,” the ex told the crowd. “It’s why we lived, they died, and now they’re with us.”

He threw an arm out to the caged exes. They returned the salute.

“We’re the rulers of the new world. This whole city is going to be our turf. There’s only one thing keeping the SS from being absolute kings of southern California—that fucking fortress of freaks holding down Hollywood.”

St. George shifted.

“You all know I’ve got business with one of them. A lot of you do, too. I’m gonna carve my name in his chest, gouge out his fucking vampire eyes, and wear his skull as a necklace for my two-year anniversary.” He pounded his chest with a fist like a gallon milk jug. Hundreds of dead hands slapped their ribcages in solidarity.

Stealth’s eyes went from the stage to the exes and back.

“This is it. I want everybody gunned up and good to go. Tonight our army marches north. We’re throwing down and wiping out the last of the old world.”

“What army?” muttered St. George. “Most of these people are kids and grandparents.”

Mighty Joe threw up one last salute and stepped down from the stage. He drifted through the crowd, giving knuckle punches and backslaps as he went.

In the cage, the walking dead performed an odd dance. Their legs shifted like a massive, macabre chorus line. Their arms raised, swung, and shifted. Three hundred moved as one.

“The exes are not copying him,” Stealth said.

“What?”

“They are in perfect synchronization. All of them. They are not copying him, he is controlling them. He is exerting some level of control over every ex here. At least a two-block radius.”

St. George watched as Mighty Joe turned his head to speak to one of his bodyguards and the cageful of exes did the same. Three hundred heads shifted to the right.

“That is why they do not need strong cages.” She nodded at the dispersing crowd as she slid the camera back into her utility belt. “ Amo de la marioneta .”

“What is that?”

“What they were saying. Puppet master. He is controlling all of them.”

“Damn straight I am,” bellowed the dead giant.

The clatter of rifles filled the air. Stealth and St. George dropped below the ledge.

“Who is that up there, anyway?” he shouted. “The hot bitch is Stealth, I’m thinking. That you, Gorgon? You finally grow some stones and come to give yourself up?”

St. George glanced at her. “When did he spot us?”

Stealth shook her head. “More importantly, how did he hear us?”

“I knew you’d show up sooner or later,” Mighty Joe yelled. “Once I told you two about the Boss of LA, it was only a matter of time.”

St. George furrowed his brow. “What the heck is he talking about?”

“The puppet master. He was speaking to us in the cell.” Stealth looked across the rooftop. The severed skull had stopped moving its jaw and stared back at her. “He sees through all of them.”

“He knew we were coming,” said St. George. “Remember the exes last night?”

She slid across the tar paper, threw her leg into the air, and brought her heel down. The dried skull shattered under her boot. “Suggestions?”

“Get ready to run,” he said.

“And you?”

“I’ll catch up.”

The hooded woman nodded and skittered across the rooftop. Once she was a few yards away she rolled and came up in a crouch with her cloak on. She gave him a nod and vanished behind an air conditioning vent.

St. George counted to five and pushed down against gravity. His boots scraped on the roof ledge as he swung up. Hundreds of searching eyes locked on him. Shoulder slings rustled, gunmetal scraped on holsters, and rounds slid home. He couldn’t guess how many weapons were aimed his way.

“The Mighty Dragon,” said the ex. “Not who I wanted but still cool.”

“Always glad to please a fan,” he called back. “You should reconsider this.”

“Why?”

He waved at the crowd. “These folks don’t want to get hurt.”

“There’ll be plenty of hurt. Not for us, though.”

“You people,” St. George shouted to the crowd. “You know who I am. You know what I can do. You know how foolish attacking me or my friends would be.”

“Oh, yeah,” bellowed the giant. “You’re strong and invulnerable. But your friends aren’t. You’ve got a fearsome rep and that’s it. We’ve got an army and a plan.”

“Is part of your great plan to announce strategy with the other side listening in?”

“I wanted you to hear,” yelled the giant. “I wanted you to know and be scared.”

“You don’t scare me, big guy.”

“You’re not the only one hiding in there, though, are you? If your people hadn’t killed my man, I would’ve had him tell them.” The giant’s face split in a toothy grin. “You know what though? You’ve always got all those exes piled up at your gates, right? Time to start thinking big.”

The enormous ex took in a breath, and all the dead things around him did the same.