Ex-Patriots (3 page)

“Hell-o,” the little girl sang. She waved and
ducked behind Cesar, blushing again.

“Yeah, I know,” the young man said. “Look, I
was wondering... could I talk to you for a couple of minutes about
something?”

“Is it urgent?”

Cesar shrugged. “I mean, it’s not life or
death,” he said. “Just wanted to talk about some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just... you know.” He shot a glance at
Billie. “Stuff. Just something I need to get off my chest, you
know?”

“D’you get bitten?”

“What? No!”

“Kill somebody?” asked Billie.

“No!”

“Steal something?”

“No! Well... no, not for like two years.
Honest, man, nothin’ like that.”

“Can’t be too pressing, then,” St. George
said with a smile. He clapped a hand on Cesar’s shoulder. “I’ve got
a few things I need to take care of before we head out, but maybe
later. I’ll be around all day tomorrow if nothing comes up.”

The young man nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed.
“Yeah, tomorrow’d be cool. Thanks, man.” He hefted the little girl
into his arms. “Say bye,” he told her.

“Good-bye,” she sang, waving at them.

“Still don’t trust any of those people,”
murmured Billie as they walked away.

“Those people?” echoed the hero.

“Don’t play the PC card,” she said. “Less
than a year ago the Seventeens were trying to kill us. Now we’re
sharing supplies with them.”

“They’re sharing with us, too, don’t forget.
Chickens, eggs, a hell of a lot more fruits and veggies.”

She shrugged. “Okay,” she said, “if you think
they’re so trustworthy why aren’t any of them scavengers or walking
the wall yet?”

St. George watched the young man and the
little girl as they turned the corner. “You know, you’re right,” he
said. “We ought to do something about that.”

“I didn’t say I have a problem with it,” she
said. “I wouldn’t trust any of them with a weapon. Most people
wouldn’t.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” he said.
“None of us are going to survive if we keep up this us-and-them
mentality. Rotate someone out and put one of the Seventeens on the
team for today.”

“What?”

“There’s a couple decent candidates. Nestor.
Hector. Fernando. Who’s the woman with the faux-hawk? Desirea?”

“Just to be clear, I started this by saying
leaving them out was a good thing.”

He smiled. “That’s why you’re picking who
comes with us. Didn’t they teach you about teambuilding in the
Marines?”

“Yeah. They said if someone wasn’t part of
the team you should shoot them.”

“Choose wisely,” he said. He focused on a
spot between his shoulders, and his feet drifted off the ground.
“At Melrose in twenty-five. I expect to see at least one person
with a tattoo.”

“I’ve got three,” she called up to him.

“You don’t count.”

“I’ll let you see the third one,” she
offered.

He pushed down against the world and soared
up into the air. The wind felt strange against his scalp, and it
took him a moment to remember the new haircut.

Flying the three blocks south to the old
Stage Four was excessive, but St. George still hadn’t gotten past
the thrill of flight. He’d been able to glide for years, but it
wasn’t until the war with the Seventeens and their undead army that
he’d been able to make the leap, so to speak, to actual flight. The
threat of losing everything they’d worked for, losing friends, and
letting down the people who believed in him, had made something
click. Now he could fly, and he was stronger than ever.

And the thought of losing Stealth, he
admitted, had probably had something to do with it, too.

He shot into the sky, high enough that he
could see the beach a dozen miles away and the Pacific Ocean and
Catalina Island far off to the south. Stealth had sent Zzzap out
there six months ago. The island’s little town, Avalon, was gone.
About a thousand exes wandered the narrow streets and out into the
hills. He stared out at the dead island and then dove back to the
ground.

He landed outside Four. The air stank of
ozone. Kids came here at night to watch their hands glow with
static electricity. Four had been a stage once, back when the Mount
was a film studio. They’d stripped out the sets and linked it to
one of the nearby power houses with heavy cables once used by
lighting crews.

The other end of those cables ran to the
object at the center of Four. It was a set of three interlocking
rings, each wrapped with copper wire. They formed a rough sphere
that looked like a seven-foot gyroscope. Someone had dubbed it the
electric chair while it was being built. The nickname had
stuck.

Hovering inside the rings was the form of a
man. It was a reversed silhouette, like looking at the sun through
a man-shaped cutout. Arcs of energy shot from the brilliant figure
to snap and pop against the copper-wrapped sphere. St. George could
tell his friend was staring off into one of the stage’s empty
corners.

Well, I’m still getting used to it,
said Zzzap. His voice was somewhere between a kazoo and pure
static, and it buzzed over the crackle of power.
You have to
admit, this isn’t exactly an everyday thing. And I say this as a
guy who more or less turns into a small star.

As St. George approached, the gleaming
silhouette turned in the air toward him.

Wow
, said Zzzap.
They really did a
number on you.

“Who were you talking to?”

Nobody.
The brilliant wraith shrugged
and gestured around him.
People. On the radio.

St. George nodded and ran his hand through
the short strands of hair. “So, how’s it look?”

Zzzap tilted his head.
You know what’s big
after the Zombocalypse? Hats.

“Seriously.”

Remember when you were a little kid and your
mom always made you get that page boy-looking haircut?

“How’d you know?”

It’s what every mom did.

“So it looks like that?”

Yeah, it’s a little worse,
said Zzzap.
It’s like a blind person tried to do a page boy with a pair of
hedge clippers.

“Great.”

Zzzap shifted again. The rings crackled as he
shed a few more kilowatts of power.
You still heading
out?

“Yeah. You still nervous?”

The wraith shrugged.
It’s a big thing,
he said.
You and I have been over to the valley a few times but
really no one’s gone there in almost two years. Hell, I think
Danielle was the last one there when she came over with her
Marines.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to call them
‘her Marines.’”

Whatever
.

“We’ve got to go sometime,” said St. George.
“We’ve cleaned out everything we can find on this side of the
hills. Now it’s either the beach or the valley, and the valley’s
got a lot more resources.”

I know. You have to admit, though, it’s just
kind of weird. I’ve gotten used to the valley being ‘somewhere
else,’ y’know?

He nodded. “There seems to be a lot of that
going around,” he said. “We’re getting... insular, I guess. Is that
the right word?”

Yeah
.

“Plus I just had a talk with Billie about the
Seventeens. We’ve got to start including them more, starting now.
She’s going to have one of them come out with us.”

Really?
Zzzap bowed his head for a
moment.
You sure you don’t want me coming out with you?

St. George shook his head. “We’ll be fine.
This way you can keep Danielle powered up here and still make it
out to us if anything goes wrong.”

Assuming you have time to set off a
flare.

“If we don’t have time to set off a flare,
there’s not much you’d be able to do anyway.” He held up his hand
and counted off three fingers. “Remember, red is trouble, blue we
need you but it’s not urgent, white means we’re spending the night
over there.”

The wraith shuddered.
Better you than
me.

“Hey, it’s my last choice, too.”

* * *

Another quick flight took St. George west
across the Mount to the four-story, tan and white office building
called Roddenberry. It was named after the man who created
Star
Trek
. For the past year and a half, it had served as town hall
for the survivors of Los Angeles.

Stealth’s office was on the top floor. She’d
converted one of the large executive conference rooms into her
command center. The blinds were always shut and the lights at a dim
glow. It was lit by dozens of monitors she’d pulled from every
office in the building, showing constant images of every street and
entrance to the Mount. George wasn’t sure how many of the cameras
were pre-existing security systems and how many she’d installed
herself.

She’d also moved into another room, hidden
away behind a low-profile door, which she used as a spartan living
quarters. He knew it was the only place she ever took her mask off.
He’d never seen the room, which meant odds were no one else had,
either.

“We’re heading out in a few minutes,” he
said. The conference room door drifted shut behind him. “I know
you’re here. Are you behind me?”

“No.” The shadows rippled between two of the
windows. The glare seeping around the blinds had hidden her right
in front of him. She stepped forward. “Are you positive you wish to
include a member of the Seventeens in your scavenging party?”

“News travels fast.”

She rolled her shoulders and the cloak folded
back away from her body. “It should not surprise you that I know
such things,” she said. “Please answer the question.”

“Well, first off,” he said, “there aren’t any
Seventeens in the Mount. Anyone here gave up their gang affiliation
months ago. Which means they’re just people.”

“Very well.”

“And despite that, as was just pointed out to
me, we’ve all been hesitant about giving these folks any trust or
responsibility.”

“Trust must be earned.”

“True,” he agreed, “but if they’re going to
earn it they need a chance. So I think we need to start giving them
chances.” He shrugged his own shoulders. “Worst case, a bunch of
people are proven right and we know some folks can’t be trusted
with a rifle. Best case, we’ve got more guards and more
scavengers.”

She gave a nod inside her hood. “Your logic
is sound. Who will you take?”

“I tossed out a few names but I left it up to
Billie Carter.”

“One of your suggestions was Fernando Gomez.
I would advise against him.”

St. George glanced at the monitors. “Have you
started hiding microphones or are you that good at lip
reading?”

“Lip reading,” she said, “although I could
have deduced he would seem like a logical choice to you.”

“And he isn’t because...?”

“He is the highest-ranked former Seventeen
living here in the Mount. If your goal is to unify the two
communities, you should not make your first pick the leader of one.
Make it clear the person you choose is the most competent from the
pool of potential candidates, regardless of their former command
structure.”

“And if he is the most competent?”

“Gomez once attempted to fight Gorgon while
wearing a welding mask and using the name Painkiller. If he is the
most competent they have to offer, this entire discussion is
moot.”

St. George smiled. For months the dead hero
had been a sore spot everyone tried not to touch, even Stealth.
They’d finally hit the point where they could remember him in a
good light. “Two jokes in, what, six weeks,” he said. “Once you
loosen up, you turn into a regular comedian, don’t you?”

“The term would be comedienne.”

“Never mind, then.”

“Are you still taking the Cahuenga Pass into
the valley?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve talked it over with
Luke and Billie. It’s narrow, but it’s a lot clearer and safer than
the freeway. Even if I had Cerberus with me, it’d take most of a
week just to clear a path from Western to the Lankershim exit.
Better to stick to the surface streets. It’ll let us check some of
those little shops and restaurants up at the top of the pass,
too.”

Stealth gave another nod and turned her
attention to the maps and charts on the conference table. “Check in
with me when you return.”

“That’s it?” He said. “No good luck wishes?
No kiss?”

“I do not believe in luck, George. You know
this.”

“And the kiss?”

She didn’t make a sound, but he recognized
her body language.

“Okay, then,” he said. “See you when I get
back.”

* * *

Roddenberry to the Melrose Gate was only a
quick hop. A small crowd had formed, but St. George could pick out
Cerberus looming by the gate and the leather-clad scavengers around
Road Warrior
as he drifted to the ground.

Road Warrior
was a twenty-four foot
truck that had been used for hauling equipment out to filming
locations back when the Mount was in the movie business. The
scavengers had chopped the roof and most of the walls off of the
box and built a new frame inside it, making the vehicle into a
gigantic pick-up. The truck had two large reserve gas tanks, a
winch, and a wedge-like steel prow which had served as a battering
ram more than a few times. There were bench seats for eight people
in the back with plenty of standing room, and a steel platform on
the cab’s roof could hold two or three more.

Billie and Jarvis had a small handcart
covered with shimmering piles of metal they were handing out to
each of the scavengers. Lady Bee was there, along with Lee and
Paul. He could see Ilya, Lynne, and a few other regulars in the
back of the truck. Luke Reid sat on the hood of the truck. St.
George saw Hector de la Vega standing a few feet away from the main
group. He made a point of locking eyes with the tattooed man and
giving him a nod.