Ex-Heroes (8 page)

He nodded. “Everyone okay? How’s Mark?”

There were nods and thumbs up.

Luke examined the tire. “Ruined,” he muttered. “No patching these.”

St. George poked the oversized wheel. “Don’t suppose you’ve got six spares hidden away somewhere?”

“Yeah, just let me pull those out of my ass.” Luke drove his boot into the sagging tire.

Cerberus glanced down the road. “How far are we from the Mount?”

“Little over a mile. Too far to walk before dark,” said Lady Bee. “A bunch of blow-outs and a nice, high-pitched brake squeal on a quiet evening. Every ex for six or seven blocks is going to be headed this way.”

“Any guess how many that is?”

She shrugged and held her walkie up in the air. “Five, maybe six hundred. We’re still too far to get a walkie signal.”

“We’re being jammed,” boomed the titan. “There’s something broadcasting wide-spectrum white noise nearby.”

Andy and Lee were behind the truck, sweeping the road with their feet while the other riders covered them. Something on the ground clinked and Lee bent down. “Shit,” he said. “Boss, come take a look at this.”

“Good eyes, Bee,” said Andy.

It was a thick chain, the size used for trailer hitches and fences. A pair of nails were welded across each link, a line of spikes stretched across the road. The chain was spray painted black, and a few old newspapers completed the camouflage.

“Jammed and crippled,” muttered Andy. “That sounds like a trap to me.”

“Worse,” said Lee. “A trap someone set since we drove by earlier.”

Ty looked around. “Seventeens?”

“Well, it ain’t the exes,” said Lee.

Lynne gripped her rifle. “So what the hell’s the point of this?”

“We get left out here,” said Luke with another glare at
Big Red
’s ruined tires. “Best case scenario, from their point of view, we stay here, the exes kill us all, and they get half a truckload of supplies come morning. Worst case, we run away, the exes kill some of us, and they get half a truckload of supplies come morning.”

“Why not kill us and take everything?”

St. George yanked the chain and ripped a post from the far side of the road. “I don’t think they’ve got anything that can take out Cerberus,” he said, “and I don’t think there is anything that can hurt Barry once he’s up. Better to just do the damage and let the world do the rest.”

Lynne looked at the truck. “Won’t they lose it all, then?”

Lee shook his head. “Exes won’t eat supplies. Someone can just come by tomorrow, deal with whoever of us might survive the night, and help themselves to everything here.”

“Everyone is surviving,” snapped St. George. “We’ve got to get everyone out of here first. All the supplies second. Someone needs to go back and get one of the other trucks.”

Cerberus shook the ground as she leaped from the back of the truck. “Someone meaning you,” she growled. Her voice buzzed when she pitched it low.

“If you’ve got some jet boots you’ve been hiding from us, now’s the time.”

“I can hoof it with no risk.”

“And I can fly it a hundred times faster.”

“Why don’t we wait for Zzzap?” asked Ty. “He’s coming back, right? And he’s faster than either of you.”

“We don’t know when he’ll come back,” said St. George. “He wasn’t planning on it. As far as he knows, we’ll be showing up at the gate in fifteen minutes. Maybe another five minutes of waiting before he’ll come check. So he’s here in twenty, back there by twenty-five, and the other truck doesn’t get ready and get out here for another half hour after that. I can shave twenty minutes off that if I leave now.”

Lynne coughed. “You mean... if you leave us? Out here?”

“It’s the only way. I can get away from the jammer, use the radio, and be there to help them get another truck out. Cerberus will be with you.”

The young woman shook. “But... but Lady Bee said there were hundreds of exes coming.”

Bee rolled her eyes. “Maybe--”

“We can’t fight that many. You’re leaving us out here to die.”

“You’re not going to die. You’ll be in the truck. They can’t get you.”

“Then why are you leaving? Let’s all just wait in the truck!”

“You don’t have anything to be scared of. They can’t hurt you in the truck.”

“They can’t hurt YOU!” Lynne was breathing fast. “You’re not scared because you can’t be hurt, but they’ll rip us apart.”

“Honey,” said Jarvis. “Relax for a minute.”

She whirled on him. “How am I supposed to--”

He snapped his head forward, cracking her in the skull. She dropped into his arms.

“What the fuck!?” said Luke.

“There’s a certain art to that,” Jarvis said, rubbing his salt-and-pepper scalp with his free hand. “She’ll be out for ten or fifteen minutes.”

“What were you thinking?”

He nodded down the street. “I was thinking the sun’s setting and I want to get home more’n I want to argue about how we do it. If all y’all want a piece of me once we’re back, you’re more’n welcome.”

“I don’t like it,” muttered Cerberus, “but I agree with him.”

St. George nodded. “You got anything?”

The armored titan panned her gaze around them. “Lots of movement. Nothing too close. Nothing warm. We’re the only living people within two blocks. Can’t find the damned jammer.”

“Three coming up from the south,” called Bee. “Two from the west.” She cocked her rifle, and Andy echoed the sound with his own.

Jarvis hefted Lynne’s limp form up to Lee and Ty. They climbed into Big Red’s back and the lift gate hissed up. St. George stripped off his heavy leather jacket. “I’ll be quick.” He tossed the coat into
Big Red
’s cab.

“You’d better,” said Cerberus.

“As soon as I’m there I can send Barry back out. He’ll keep you charged until we get another truck here.” His utility belt followed the coat into the back seat. He took a deep breath and a few running steps away from the truck.

The air hissed, the darkness fled, and Zzzap hovered above them.

Hey
, he buzzed.
Not interrupting anything, am I?

St. George staggered to a clumsy stop. “Bastard.”

Saw this cloud when I was running to the Mount and thought I should head back to check it out.

Ty squinted at the gleaming outline. “What cloud?”

“He sees radio waves,” said Cerberus.

Hey, did you guys know there’s a signal jammer in that car over there?

Flying was never any different for me. Most people don’t realize when I’m in the energy state I can’t touch anything, so I’m just in the air all the time. That’s my whole life. I’m either in a wheelchair or I can fly.

A woman called me this afternoon. She didn’t say her name, but I was pretty sure then it was the one they call Stealth. I have no idea how she got my cell number. Hell, she called me Barry and knew I was at home. There was some sort of contagion in Los Angeles, and she needed me to help keep tabs on it. Being able to fly at just over Mach five was her main interest in me (despite what’s been said in
Time
,
People
, and on that Learning Channel special, my top speed is nowhere near the speed of light). The fact that my energy state was immune to all diseases was an afterthought.

It took me half an hour to get to Los Angeles from Amherst. She was waiting on the roof of the Capitol Records building, a nice easy landmark, like she promised.

Apparently one thing she didn’t know is what that outfit of hers does to men. Or if she did know she didn’t care. If it was any tighter I could tell if she shaved her legs or not. Dear God, I could actually see her nipples through that suit and I’d swear all the belts and straps were placed to accent her boobs and hips.

She gave me the lowdown on what I was looking for. People with pale skin, a lack of coordination and language skills, high resistance to damage, and a degree of aggression. Some of them might smell like rotted meat.

I have no sense of smell when I am Zzzap.

Sounds like you’ve got a zombie problem,
I said, wondering what her curves would look like when she laughed.

She didn’t laugh. I know sometimes people have trouble understanding me when I speak in the energy state. Jerry told me it sounds like I’m gargling a beehive. I didn’t think that was the problem here, though.

So, how many have you seen so far?

Stealth unfolded a map. She pointed to three small crosses, scattered across the city.

Three? That’s it?

“In a city with the population density of Los Angeles, an aggressive disease can spread to thousands of people within hours. I have seen three people who are infected. There is no telling how many are carriers that have not manifested symptoms yet.”

Jesus
.

“Do you know Los Angeles at all?”

Not really, but I’m good with landmarks
.

She held the map out for me. “Study this. I need you to spend the next six hours scouring the city as many times as you can. Every street, every alley, every cul de sac.” She pointed at one section. “Watch the Hollywood Hills. There are several canyons and hidden streets.”

In the eight months since I became Zzzap I’d gotten very good at memorizing things. Not being able to hold a notepad or post-it made it a necessity. I gave her a nod after studying the map for five minutes.
Why isn’t the CDC involved in this?

“At the moment, they believe this is a hoax. All three victims were inanimate by the time they examined them.”

Dead?

Again, no answer. She was one stony bitch. She folded the map and it vanished into her cloak. “Can you do it?”

The first time might take me a few hours. I’ll pick up speed as I learn the city
.

“Proceed. I will meet you back here in six hours.” She shook her cloak back around herself, doing a piss-poor job of hiding her curves, and walked away. God, if I didn’t know better I’d swear all those urban-camo lines actually enhanced her ass somehow.

Moving low to the ground through a strange city, the best speed I could manage was around 400 miles per hour. Much more than that causes serious weather problems, not to mention sonic booms (which can shatter windows, windshields, neon signs, and lots of other expensive things). I started circling the buildings, checking every person I passed for the signs of infection.

Alleys. Roads. Parking structures. Subways. Anywhere people could be. I peered in windows where I could, through walls where I couldn’t. On my first pass, I’d say I saw three-fifths of the city’s population. No sign of the mystery disease, although I did stop two muggings and halted a high speed street race by melting the tires of both cars. I figured I could make at least one more pass before it was time to meet up with Stealth again, and hopefully I could catch a good chunk of the rest.

Street. Boulevard. Avenue. Drive. I was an hour into my second run when I saw him.

He was an old guy. His clothes were dark and a bit ragged. Probably homeless, staggering down an alley. His skin was the color of ash and his face was blank. Not emotionless, it just looked like he’d forgotten how to make any sort of expression. A quick check at either end of the street told me we were just north of Beverly between La Brea and Detroit.

I zipped back to hover over him, and a full minute passed before he twisted his head up to look at me. It usually doesn’t take people long to notice the white-hot man-shape sizzling like a sparkler.

His eyes were cloudy. I thought he might be blind. He was staring right at me and not blinking. Something looked very wrong about him, and I couldn’t figure out what.

Good evening, citizen
, I said, careful to enunciate each word.
Are you okay?

Still wide-eyed. Still no blink. Had I seen him blink once yet?

Sir? Are you feeling okay? Do you need any help?

His mouth opened, showing off an impressive collection of half-rotted teeth, and then he clacked them together again and again and again. It sounded like those little wooden things Mexican dancers wear on their hands.

A fun little trick the magazines and television shows never figured out. I can see all the electromagnetic energy in the air, including radio waves, television broadcasts, and satellite transmissions. I knew there were seventeen GPS devices within three blocks of me, and I could tell you the codes for each one. And if I had to, with a little concentration, I could duplicate them or override them.

Which is why it had been second nature to see the cell phone built into Stealth’s cowl and memorize the number. Focus on that and I could feel the signal a phone would translate into an audible ring.

“Who is this?”

“It’s me, Zzzap.”

“You don’t sound like him.”

“I’m transmitting to your phone. You’re hearing my voice as I hear it, not how you do.”

“Where did we first meet?”

“On top of the Capitol Records building a few hours ago. Listen, I think I’ve got one of your infected people here.”

“Where are you?”

I described the alley and she said she’d be there in six minutes before hanging up. The old man was reaching up for me, his hands clawing at the air. It reminded me of a mission I’d visited in Brazil, and all the people who thought I was some kind of angel or something.

I settled down a few yards from him, inches above the ground.
Sir, there’s a chance you may have a contagious disease,
I said.
Someone’s coming to help you, but I need you to stay here.

As soon as I landed he began to shuffle toward me, his arms still out. I flitted back and let off a gentle burst of light and heat, just enough to be felt. His teeth were still chattering.

It’s dangerous to touch me, sir. You should keep your distance.
Then I remembered what Stealth had said about language and damage. He probably hadn’t felt the heat or understood me.

More clicking came from behind me. It was an older woman in tattered layers, showing all the infection signs. She was five yards away, also reaching for me. As I glanced at her I realized why she and the old man looked so wrong to my eyes.

Like I mentioned, I can see the whole spectrum. I try to limit myself so I don’t get overwhelmed, but there’s a bunch of stuff I just always notice, like infrared. Neither of them was warm. They looked weird because they were at room temperature-- or alley temperature—-blending into the surrounding brick and pavement. Also, normal people have an electromagnetic halo, and on both of them it was just a dim glow.