Ex-Heroes (7 page)

“All clear,” she called out over her radio. “Bring it around the corner.”

* * * *

David pushed the apartment door open with his foot and counted to five. He stomped his foot a few times, then counted to five again. Rifle up, he led them into the third apartment. Billie was right behind him with her shotgun, and Ty brought up the rear after double-checking the hallway was clear.

They looked around the corner to the kitchen. Billie banged on the bathroom door a few times, and Ty did the same with the bedroom.

Something thudded against the bedroom door.

“Got one,” he called.

“I’m at the door,” said David.

“Got your back,” said Billie. She raised the shotgun.

Ty kicked the door hard and felt it slap the dead weight when the latch popped. He hit it again and it banged open. The ex was an older man with a Hawaiian shirt. Black pants and striped boxers gathered at its ankles. It stumbled back for a moment and then wiggled toward them.

“Oh, Jeez,” Billie said, biting back a laugh. She pointed to the nightstand where a pair of dentures sat in a glass of cloudy water. “It’s toothless.”

Ty put his rifle out at arms length and braced the barrel against its forehead. The stocking feet shuffled out from under it and the ex tilted back to crash against the floor. As it twisted he walked over and put a round through its temple. The corpse went limp.

Cerberus barked from their walkies. “Who fired?”

“It’s Ty. We had one ex. It’s down.”

“Copy that.”

David’s voice echoed from the living room. “We clear now?”

His partners nodded. “Clear,” agreed Ty. He glanced from the ex to Billie. “Poor bastard died getting dressed.”

“Bad enough being the living dead,” she smirked and held her fist out to him. “If I come back, promise me you’ll get my pants on.”

He rapped her knuckles. “We’ll see.”

She yanked open the bathroom drawers with her free hand. Ty went back to the kitchen and pulled open the first set of cabinets. “Score!” he crowed. “First one opened, not even trying.” He leaned from the kitchen and held out half a bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum.

“Nice.”

“Whatcha got?” asked Billie from the bathroom.

“Booze,” said David.

“Sweet. Epson salts are medicine, right?”

“Yep,” said David. “Grab it.”

“Couple cans of soup,” said Ty, “some ramen, half a box of Bisquik. Not much else.” He held up the half-filled canvas bag.

David looked at the box. “Can Bisquik go bad?”

“I don’t know. The date’s still good.”

* * * *

St. George twisted another bolt out of the concrete. The rust and paint made them slip a lot, but if he squeezed hard enough he could work them loose. It got high enough to get his fingers under and he yanked it free of the rooftop. The last solar panel shuddered for a moment as he tossed the bolt over by the air vent.

He paused for a quick glance down below. The street was still clear. Ilya was strapping down the panel that had come down ten minutes earlier.
Big Red
had seven of them so far, wedged in alongside scavenged bins and boxes.

The hero attacked the last bolt and a minute later the solar panel swung backward like a drunk. “Ready with the next one,” he shouted. “You clear down there?”

“Ready and waiting,” called Ilya. He pulled the ratchet strap he was working on tight, swung his rifle a little further behind his back, and shot a thumbs up toward the rooftop.

The hero hefted the panel in both hands and hopped off the rooftop. He soared down to the truck bed, Ilya grabbed the panel for balance, and they set it down. Barry shifted on his pile of blankets and muttered in their general direction.

“Two more up on the next roof,” said St. George.

Ilya nodded. “Any idea who’s getting these?”

He shook his head. “I think one of the East Central stages. I’m sure Stealth has it planned out.”

“’Course she does.” Ilya stretched another ratchet strap out and hooked it to a support.

St. George looked out at the street. “Still good?”

“Yeah. Nothing for four or five blocks.”

Jarvis and Andy walked up to the truck, each holding a cardboard box packed with cans while Lee covered them. “Looks like somebody’s granddad planned for World War Three,” he said. “A bunch of Korean War stuff and there’s at least two more loads of stuff like this in the duplex over there. A few cases of 30-ought, too.”

“You guys are just finding all the fun stuff today,” said Ilya.

St. George flipped a can of turkey chili in his hand and slotted it back into the case. “Any sign of what happened to grandpa?”

Andy shook his head while they slid the boxes to the back of the truck. “Back door’s off its hinges,” he said, “some blood by the garage. No bodies. Either they ate every inch of him or he walked away.”

“One way or another,” added Lee.

“Get it all,” said the hero, “but take your time. He might be wandering around there somewhere.”

“Him and a couple thousand others,” coughed Jarvis.

“All the more reason to be careful,” said St. George. He glanced at his watch. “I’d love to finish this block today.”

“We can do it,” said Lee. The three men tossed out waves and salutes and marched back to the duplex.

The hero kicked off the lift gate and flew back up to the roof.

* * * *

“Last apartment on this floor,” said Lady Bee. She set her swollen shopping bag down and banged on the door.

Lynne clutched her rifle. “So, that was them killing an ex?”

Mark nodded. “You find them stuck in bedrooms, bathrooms, stuff like that,” he said. “They don’t know how to work a doorknob, so they just get stuck in places. I’ve seen a lot in closets. Some people just crawled in there to hide and croaked.”

“They don’t feel anything,” Bee said. “No brain activity, no feelings, no nothing. They’re just walking corpses. Clear,” she said to Mark.

He gave the door three hard kicks and the deadbolt ripped out of the frame. He stared into the dim apartment for three Mississippis and then moved in. It was packed with dusty IKEA furniture and pillows. “Avon calling,” he yelled out.

“That stopped being funny before I was born,” said Bee, adding a gentle kick to his ass as she slid past to the kitchen.

“That will
never
stop being funny,” he assured her. “Lynne, watch her back. I’ve got the door.”

They banged on the small closet and discovered a plastic garbage can filled with ooze and mold. “Kitchen’s clear,” said Bee. She looked at Lynne. “Bedrooms and bathroom next.”

They tapped on doors. The bedroom was just as filled as the living room. The bathroom was barren, with faded black towels. A dark shower curtain fluttered near the open window and a swinging cord tapped out Morse code on the sill. “I think I remember this bathroom from a catalog,” said Lynne.

Bee gave her a wink. “Now’s your big chance to own it.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Lynne said. She turned back to the medicine cabinet and an ex fell through the shower curtain.

It was a naked, swollen woman, Mexican or Indian, with folds of gray fat hanging off it. The dead thing stumbled over the edge of the tub, knocking Lynne down with its sheer mass and bouncing off the sink to fall on top of her. She screamed and got her arms up in time to block its neck and keep its mouth away from her. The teeth clacked together again and again, showering Lynne with flecks of ivory as its hair swept her face. The meaty hands reached down to paw her.

“Fucker!” Bee turned back. “Mark!!”

“Get it off me!! Help!!”

They’d fallen halfway through the door, and the ex’s bulk blocked the entrance. Mark lunged in, leaping over the writhing corpse to the bathroom counter and down behind it. He wrapped his thick arm around the ex’s neck and heaved. The ex lifted another few inches and Lynne thrashed and flailed and kicked her way out from under it into the hall.

“Bee!”

“Hold it still!”

The ex’s neck popped as it twisted its head back. The jaws opened wide and it sank its teeth into Mark’s forearm, gnawing at the heavy sleeve. The fabric darkened around its brittle lips. He howled and let it fall.

Lady Bee slammed her pistol into the back of its skull. She fired three rounds and it flopped on the carpet.

Mark fell over the corpse, clutching at his bloody arm. “I feel sick.”

St. George looked up from Vermont at the sound of shots. Ilya did the same from the back of the truck. Cerberus echoed on his earpiece, “Who fired?”

There was a long pause.

“Who fired?”

Lee, Andy, and Jarvis wheeled a cart full of supplies across the street. They stopped and looked around.

Above them a window smashed open. “Here!” Lynne shouted, waving an arm.

St. George threw himself into the air.

* * * *

The last shards of glass fell from the window as he soared through. “What happened?”

Lynne had pulled some hydrogen peroxide from her bag and emptied the brown bottle over his arm. “It was on her,” Mark said through gritted teeth. “Broke its own neck to bite me.”

“Stay calm,” said Lady Bee. She slapped the side of his head. “If you work yourself up it’ll spread faster.”

Lynne tore the wet sleeve away from the bite. The shirt had taken a lot of it, but there were still bloody trenches gouged out of his forearm. The flesh was getting pale.

Mark saw the fading skin. “Oh shit,” he muttered. “Shit shit sh--”

Lady Bee glanced at the hero. “We’ve got to do it.”

St. George was already leaning out the remains of the window. “BARRY!”

* * * *

In the back of the truck, Barry’s eyes snapped open, then clenched shut. He reached down into himself, found the trigger fused into his DNA, and flipped it.

Everything went white.

The blankets beneath him burst into flame as his clothing incinerated.

Arcs of raw power spat and twisted out to every metal surface. Ilya felt his skin burn and blister and threw himself off the lift gate. He blocked his eyes as
Big Red
’s paint seared off down to the metal and the wooden planks lining the truck bed scorched black. Two of the solar panels flared and burst.

A second sun shot into the air.

* * * *

The wall crumbled to ash as the blazing wraith passed through it and the shadows fled the room. “Bite,” said St. George. “Left arm.”

Zzzap nodded.
Understood. Do you have him?

Lynne’s eyes were wide and wet. “What are you doing?”

St. George grabbed Mark by the shoulders and pushed him flat on the floor. Lady Bee grabbed his wrist and stretched the arm out straight.

“What are you doing?!” Lynne tried to pull St. George away. He shoved her back against the wall with one hand.

Sorry, man,
buzzed Zzzap.
This is going to hurt like hell.

Mark gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded.

The gleaming outline dropped its hand. The fingers swung down and passed through the man’s bicep. There was a hiss, a puff of smoke, and Lady Bee fell back clutching the arm. Mark screamed while a scent like burnt barbeque filled the room.

Bee tossed the arm. One of her gloves came off and she crammed it in the amputated man’s mouth. “Bite down,” she told him. “Bite and try to calm down.” She wrapped her arms around him.

There was a crackle of static as St. George keyed his walkie. “We’ve got a bite, everyone. Whatever you’ve got, get it to the truck. We’re done and we’re moving out in five minutes.” He looked at Zzzap. “Get back to the Mount. Tell Connolly we’ve got wounded coming in.”

On it.

* * * *

Big Red
roared south on Vermont.

They stretched Mark out on the panel above the cab, strapping him down for safety. Lady Bee perched by his feet. Jarvis crouched next to him with a wet bandanna and tapped the man’s cauterized stump. “Hey, stay awake.”

“I’m awake,” Mark hissed through gritted teeth. Sweat beaded across his face. “Give me another shot of the rum.”

“Top five celebrity kills. Who were they?”

He held the bottle in his shaky left hand and took two awkward swallows. “Paula Abdul. Charlie Sheen. Frasier. Whatshername... the Asian cylon from
Battlestar Galactica
.” His eyes fluttered.

“Hey!” Jarvis grabbed the bottle and shook him. “Come on, you got to stay with me. That’s only four.”

Mark blinked a few times. “Number one,” he said. “I got Trebek.”

“What? You’re lying.”

“Nah.”

“You’re delusional,” said Jarvis. He wiped his friend’s forehead.

Mark shook his head and coughed.

St. George swung up from the running boards. “How’s he doing?”

“Serious shock, said Lady Bee. “Some blood loss. He’s burning up. Not a hundred percent sure Zzzap took the arm in time.”

“He’s going to be fine,” said St. George. “We’ll be home in less than ten minutes. Barry’s already there letting them know what happened.”

Big Red
swung hard at the intersection to add emphasis.

Lynne’s knuckles were white on her rifle. “Why didn’t she just shoot it?”

Cerberus looked down at her. “They’re full of disease. You were under it. If she killed it and any of the fluids got on you, you’d be the one dying right now.”

She winced. “Is he dying? Are you sure?”

The armored titan shrugged. “Probably.”

“STOP!!”

Lady Bee pounded her hand on the cab’s roof.

Luke slammed the brake to the floor and wrenched up the emergency brake.
Big Red
squealed on the pavement, leaving a trail of black rubber. Jarvis threw himself over Mark and pinned the wounded man down. Cerberus staggered. Bee pitched forward off the roof of the cab and St. George grabbed her as he lunged through the air.

Both front tires exploded. The truck dropped, stumbled forward, and the rear dually tires blew out.
Big Red
lurched a few more feet, limp wheels slapping the pavement, and came to rest just between the crooked intersection of Melrose and New Hampshire.

“Son of a BITCH!” bellowed Luke. He pounded the steering wheel and threw open the door.

St. George set Bee down on the ground. “Thanks for the catch,” she said.