Peter Clines: Ex-Heroes

“I am familiar with it. Christopher Eccleston, David Tennant, and Matt—”

“No,” I said. “The new show’s great, but I grew up on the old one. The low-budget, rubber monster show with Tom Baker and Peter Davison. I watched it on PBS all the time as a kid.” I looked out at the dark ruins of Hollywood, at the stumbling shadows dotting the streets as far as you could see. The only other living person within half a mile was standing behind me, her eyes boring into my head. “The Doctor didn’t have superpowers or weapons or anything like that. He was just a really smart guy who always tried to do the right thing. To help people, no matter what. That struck me when I was a kid. The idea that no matter how cold and callous and heartless the world seemed, there was somebody out there who just wanted to make life better. Not better for worlds or countries in some vague way. Just better for people trying to live their lives, even if they didn’t know about him.” I turned back to her and tapped my chest. “That’s what this suit’s always been about. Not scaring people like you or Gorgon do. Not some sort of pseudosexual roleplay or repressed emotions. I wear this thing, all these bright colors, because I want people to know someone’s trying to make their lives better. I want to give them hope.” She was quiet for a long time. “I see.”

“Good. Because I won’t let you do what you’re talking about doing. I’m not going to cherry-pick people who you think will be ‘useful’ and leave everyone else to die.” She stared at me for a long moment. I could feel her eyes even through the mask. Then she nodded. “If you feel this is the right path, I shall trust your judgment.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and nodded back. “It will require more work,” she said, “but we should be able to rescue the majority of the survivors.”

“Thank you.”

“As I was saying before, with your reassurances we should be able to gather the majority of the survivors to the Mount within four to six weeks. That number should hold even with the expanded scope of this venture.”

“How can we promise them it’ll be safe?”

“You and Cerberus can reinforce the entrances.”

“With what?”

“Production vehicles and trucks. Either of you can tip them and move them into position, giving us solid walls at any gate. Once the facility is sealed, Zzzap can search all of it in an hour. We could have the lot clean and secure in two days time.”

“How do we keep it clean, though? I’ve seen the movies.

People could come in infected.” She shook her head. “There is no evidence the virus can pass except through blood contact. All survivors will be strip-searched for bites or injuries before being allowed to enter.” I mulled over the idea. “That won’t go over well with a lot of folks.”

“It is necessary. Keeping the Mount clean and free of infection must be our primary concern.”

“And us? Pardon the reference but …who watches the watchmen?”

“You, Zzzap, and Cerberus are all effectively immune since the exes cannot reach your respective bloodstreams. The three of you will observe and examine the rest of us for bites or possible infection.” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to submit to a strip search?” Stealth tilted her head, and I could feel the icy stare. “I will allow Cerberus to examine as much of my body as she deems necessary.

There is no way an attack on my head or face could be hidden.”

“Okay, then,” I said, banishing that set of thoughts. “What do we do if they don’t want to come?”

“You think they will doubt us?” I looked out at the city. “I think people are doubting everything right now. After a few months of martial law and the walking dead, we’re going to have an uphill battle making them believe anything’s okay.”

“I have no doubt you can convince them they will be completely safe within the Mount,” she said. “The populace of Los Angeles all but worships you as a saint.”

St. George stood on the water tower and looked out across the darkened city. The sky was getting brighter but the night still held its ground in places. Some of the exes had wandered away, but thousands still mobbed the walls of the Mount. He could hear their teeth echoing in the air.

“I imagine this view was impressive in the years before.”

Stealth stood behind him, one leg raised on the steep cone of the tower’s top.

“It was,” he said. “I came here once or twice.”

He stepped off to the side, taking the antenna in his hand for balance. She took a few lunging steps up to stand next to him and nodded at his sling. “I was under the impression you were confined to bed.”

“One of the joys of superpowers. You can almost always go somewhere the doctor can’t chase you.”

“Are you going to recover?”

“Yeah.” He lifted his bandaged arm. “The wounds weren’t that bad. Well, all things considered.”

“And the virus?”

St. George shook his head. “Doc Connolly’s amazed. She’s wanted a blood sample from me for a year now. Apparently my immune system’s so powerful it’s killing everything Cairax dumped into me. My white blood cells are a cure for hepatitis, malaria, HIV, pretty much anything you can think of.”

“I am not surprised.”

The hero nodded. “It just sucks there’s no way to get at them once I’m healed.”

“Always the giver,” she said. “Always the saint.”

“Was that a joke?”

“Perhaps.”

“I guess today’s a miracle on several levels, then.”

The mountains to the east burned red. They watched the shadows shrink. Automatic lights flickered and went out across the Mount, and over on Stage Four Zzzap relaxed a little in the electric chair.

“So,” the tall hero said, “what are you going to do with Josh?”

Stealth bowed her head to examine the dark gardens below the water tower. “I do not know,” she admitted. “Word of what he did will leak to the populace, yet I am no longer confident I can decide the punishment for a crime of such scale.”

“And he can’t be killed,” added St. George.

“Yes. Which limits our options. Cerberus has locked him in a cell for now. I believe she wants to starve him.”

He lifted his chin. “We shouldn’t do that.”

“I agree.”

“Thank you.”

“There are larger issues to consider,” said the hooded woman. “The Seventeens are broken. We are now the only significant force left in Los Angeles.”

“How many people are still back at their little kingdom?”

“Almost nineteen thousand. Now with minimal protection and resources.”

“No way we can fit them all in the Mount.”

“None at all.”

The tallest buildings in the city were already glowing. St. George looked at the distant cluster of Century City and imagined the work crews he’d seen. “Zzzap and Cerberus could head down there,” he said. “Give them power for a while, and she’s a definite morale boost. We could get by with the generators and solar cells.”

“An adequate temporary solution. We will need a long-term one, however.”

He smiled. “If you’re saying that, it means you already have one.”

“Gower Street Studios is six blocks north of us. Ren-Mar is four blocks to the west. They are substantially smaller, but it would be possible to adapt the stages there into housing much as we did here. We could do the same with Raleigh Studios.”

“You always said Raleigh was too hard to defend. And it’s still not enough room.”

“It is a start.”

He looked at the roads outside the Mount’s walls. “You know,” he said, “we could do what they did. Use cars to block off streets. We could expand our perimeter, get all four stages inside one wall. One safe zone. It’d take some work, but we could do Sunset to Beverly, Vine to Western.”