Ex-Heroes

Twenty-Five NOW

The floodlights at North Gower flickered once and went dead. A cry went out but Zzzap had already brightened. His light spread across the street.

No reason to worry , he told them. We’re all grownups. Nobody’s scared of the dark, right? Well, except Bee.

“Fuck you,” she said with a tight smile.

You wouldn’t survive it, beautiful.

They all chuckled, and Cerberus gave him a nod. It was a clear night. Even without Zzzap, the waxing moon and the brilliant flares in the sky still made it easy to see. The pikes stabbed in again and dropped another handful of exes. The pounding on the truck got louder. Lynne looked up at the battlesuit. “Can you feel that?”

“What?” The teenager looked around and rolled down her sleeves. “It’s getting chilly.” Lady Bee nodded. “Temperature’s dropping,” she agreed.

“What the hell’s that about?” The dead pounded on the truck, louder and louder. The living could feel the vibrations on their skin. “They’re getting stronger,” said Cerberus. “No.” One of the guards shook his head. He had an ear up, listening. “It just sounds that way because they’re syncing up. They’re starting to beat in time.” The drumbeat on the truck became louder. The sound echoed across the Mount. “They’re all beating in time,” muttered Bee. A shiver worked its way through the crowd. Outside the gate, the chattering of dead teeth grew louder. “Oh, God,” a man shouted. His pike clattered to the ground.

“Look at the sky!” Far above, all three flares snuffed out like old matches. The stars vanished one by one. An inky shadow crept across the moon, across everything. Inside the armor, lights flashed and power levels wavered.

Frost formed on the screens. Cerberus staggered. She rerouted systems and tried to stabilize the batteries as her interior lights dimmed. “What the hell is going on?” Every walkie-talkie let out a low, flat hiss of static. The guards screamed and the moon vanished behind a black shroud. Zzzap extended his energies again and trembled as the darkness resisted. The shadows fought and forced his light back to his body.

It was something he hadn’t felt in over a year, and something he thought he’d never have to feel again.

Fucking son of a bitch, he said. It’s Midknight.

* * * *

The drumbeat of the dead echoed across the Mount like a relentless overseer on an ancient slave ship. Gorgon’s confident smirk faded. Even Stealth seemed shaken.

Below them, the exes parted to let the trucks drive up. Over a dozen of them, all spray-painted with different shades of green. Seventeens rode the roof and hung out the windows. At the head of the parade, Mighty Joe Young—Rodney Casares—rode in the back of a National Guard truck decorated with skulls and a large neon-green 17 on the hood. They whooped and hollered and fired their guns into the sky.

“Thank God,” muttered Gorgon. “Something I can deal with.”

Stealth sank down against the arch. In some way Gorgon couldn’t wrap his head around, her black and gray cloak blended into the ivory material. She was ten feet away and he had trouble seeing her.

The gigantic ex waded through the dead, his eyes locked on Gorgon the whole time. They shifted and stumbled to clear a path for him. The drumming stopped. The chattering of teeth slowed and stopped.

“Just the man I was looking for,” bellowed the Seventeen’s leader. He stood in the intersection before the gates and flashed his tombstone grin.

“Rodney,” called Gorgon. He crossed his arms across his chest and squared off his shoulders. Gunslinger pose. “Long time no see. Still ugly as shit.”

“And bigger than life,” he cackled. “Fucking awesome, isn’t it? Life and death throw down in my body and I just keep getting bigger and meaner.” He flexed a swollen arm the size of a beer keg.

Dozens and dozens of Seventeens trained their weapons on the Melrose gate.

“Tell you what,” shouted the huge ex. He slapped his hands together and the exes shifted as one. A space opened around him, ten, twenty, thirty feet across when the dead stopped shambling out of the way. “Last chance. You come down, give yourself up, and I send everyone else away. You got my word.”

“Yeah, you’ve been known for your word for years,” called Gorgon. “Save the cheap effects, dipshit. You’re still nothing special and you don’t scare anyone.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rodney spat out a mouthful of dark slime. “Want to see if your people scream when my army tears down these walls? Want to see who’s scared then?”

The exes lumbered forward like a wave. Weathered hands closed on the bars. They all pulled. They all pushed. The hinges squealed.

Derek shouted and his gate guards leveled their shotguns a mere yard from the barrier. Their first volley went off at eye level and a score of exes packed against the gate dropped. Fourteen slides racked and the second volley dropped another dozen as they surged forward. Rifles went off along the top of the walls and another score of exes vanished beneath the mob.

Rodney waved his arm and the Seventeens shot back. A few people fell from the wall. Most of them dropped low and hugged the concrete.

“We can keep this up all week,” shouted Gorgon over the gunfire.

“All week? This place be rubble by sunrise,” yelled the dead giant. “We got the manpower, the firepower, the willpower! What you got? A couple freaks in costumes? You got nothing!!”

The Seventeens hollered and roared and punched the sky. The dead threw their arms up as well.

Gorgon stood up on top of the arch and looked down at them. Hundreds of Seventeens. Thousands of zombies. “We’ve got brains, Rodney,” he shouted with a grin. “And superpowers or not, you’re still the same idiot you’ve always been. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t’ve brought an army of people who’ve never met me before.”

“I’m gonna chop your fucking head off and shove it so far up your ass it’s gonna come back out your neck!” bellowed the giant. He pointed a finger as thick as a baseball bat and a dozen Seventeens trained their weapons on the hero. “You got anything else smart to say?!”

Gorgon laughed and clapped his hands over his head. “Ladies and gentlemen of the SS,” he shouted, “if you could give me your attention, please.”

A good third of the gang members were already looking at him. Half the rest glanced up as Rodney yelled “ DON’T!! ”

The goggles opened and Gorgon cast his vampiric gaze out at the frozen crowd.

They shuddered and twitched as he tore their strength out. His body shook with the raw power of it, like the greatest sex of his life. Tier ten or eleven. Maybe higher. Weapons lowered and then clattered to the pavement.

Almost three hundred Seventeens collapsed in the street among the exes as the irises snapped shut.

Gorgon rolled his shoulders once and tried to settle the strength buzzing in his muscles. “Told you he was an idiot,” he said to Stealth.

Shots echoed in the air as he leaped off the arch, dropped twenty feet, and drove a kick into Rodney’s head. He rode the malformed skull to the ground and it made a satisfying crack as it hit the pavement. The hero slammed his fist into the giant’s throat and followed it up with a strike to the solar plexus. He drove two-three-four more punches home, flashing the goggles on each one, before Rodney’s arm swept him away.

It was like getting hit by a speeding car. Gorgon flew across the street, knocking down a dozen exes as he went.

“Your eye-magic don’t work on me,” said the giant as he stood up. “Not so tough when you can’t make the other guy weak, are you?”

A handful of exes grabbed at Gorgon’s arms and shoulders and he felt a tiny bit of his strength simmer away as he shrugged them off. “Man enough to test that?”

Rodney roared and charged.

* * * *

St. George landed at the Van Ness gate and Jarvis limped to him. “Moved past,” shouted the salt-and-pepper man. He had one arm in a sling, and pointed north with the rifle clutched in his other hand. “Heading for Lemon Grove.”

“Why didn’t you—”

“Radios are out. We sent runners.” The hero nodded and hurled himself back up over the rooftops.

Lemon Grove had been a tiny pedestrian entrance, over a block north from Van Ness. When they’d moved into the Mount, they’d welded the rolling gate shut, jammed its drive chain, and boarded up the tiny guard shack with layers of plywood.

Two long, clawed hands gripped the top of the small gate and forced it back down its tracks.

There were six guards. On top of an office trailer, Ilya, Billie, and two others were picking off exes one by one. The Marine was shouting into her walkie. The two guards on the roof of the shack were shooting at the demon on the far side.

“Oh, thank God,” one of the shack-guards said. “I didn’t think anyone—”

“Radios are dead,” St. George interrupted. “Stop wasting ammunition!” He punctuated it with a burst of flame.

They stopped firing and the gate squealed. One of the welds snapped with a sound like a cymbal.

“The demon’s bulletproof. I’ve got him. Take care of the exes.”

St. George leaped up into the sky and arced down to land just behind Cairax. He kicked two exes away and threw a few fists and elbows that shattered skulls. Then he latched onto the demon’s tail and yanked.

The monster flew away from the gate as the hero swung it up, over, and slammed it into the crowded street. He leaped across the distorted body, dragging the tail with him, and shoved another ex away as he landed. He set his boots to the pavement and whipped the demon in a circle, swatting zombies away like flies. After two spins he hurled it across the street into the parking structure, decapitating a handful of exes on the way. The dead thing struck the concrete pillar like a wrecking ball and left a crater. It dropped to the ground in a heap of over-long limbs.

Behind the fence, the guards were cheering.

St. George waded through the exes, cracking heads and necks with each swing of his arms. Gunfire dropped the dead near him. He was halfway to Cairax when the demon lunged back up. Its head panned back and forth before something behind the twisted face focused on him and growled.

“Ahhh,” he said. “Got your attention in there, big guy?”

Cairax lunged at him and he sidestepped. The nest of teeth cracked into the pavement next to his foot. He took the moment to grab a female ex by her coat and hurl her up at the demon. He grabbed two more and swung them like clubs, battering the monster in the head three times before the exes came apart.

The dead thing swept its arms together, knocking over its brethren, but St. George was already in the air. He shot a cone of fire into Cairax’s face and the demon flinched.

“Rookie mistake,” he called out. “Dead things aren’t scared of—”

Cairax grabbed a dead man and hurled it up at the hero. The ex caught St. George in the side and he tumbled to the ground.

The demon moved like a snake, its spine rolling up and down as its head lashed out at him.

He swung a fist and caught it under the jaw. A tooth flew loose and Cairax staggered back from the impact.

The hero lunged up, dove in, and jerked back. A pair of exes held his coat. One was chewing on the leather, trying to work its teeth through a pocket flap. The other reached out with its free arm and grabbed a handful of hair.

He spun with his fist out and broke off the hair-puller’s jaw. The fist swung back and shattered its skull. He shook off the leather-eater and a bullet exploded its head as it stumbled back.

A voice shouted something between the gunfire. Billie, up on the roof of the trailer.

He turned in time to see the demon’s head lunge down again. The creature’s mouth was a Venus flytrap of tusks and fangs. St. George threw his arm up out of instinct and the dead thing’s daggerlike teeth punched through the leather sleeve.

Into his arm.

Agony, more pain than he’d felt in years, roared through him. The jaw hinged shut like a machine and one of the huge teeth scraped against bone as it pushed deeper into his flesh.

Cairax Murrain grinned and yanked him up into the air, shaking its head like a crocodile. St. George’s shoulder twisted and he felt himself flail. He heard people screaming and realized through the pain he was one of them.

He coughed out a ball of fire and the flames cleared his head. He swung his legs, slammed his palm against Cairax’s snout, and tore himself free. The sleeve shredded and just for a moment he saw white spots in the air. Blood splattered the ground, and he wondered how many pounds of meat were still in the ex’s mouth. At least one of its teeth was still in his arm.

St. George landed on his knees and made an awkward lunge back to his feet. Claws slammed into his back and hurled him against a dusty Ford. His skull left a dent in the frame and the world blurred.

Rounds snapped and popped against the dead thing’s leathery skin. It didn’t notice. A ricochet caught an ex in the side of the head and it dropped.

The hero staggered to his feet and grabbed the demon’s tail again as it lashed out. It dragged him across the pavement, tripping countless exes as it tried to shake him off. He twisted the length of muscle and felt bones snap under the leathery skin. Another car rushed up to slam into his back.

The barbed tail snapped like a whip and flung St. George back at the Mount. The mob of exes grabbed at his limbs, his coat, his hair. He shook them off, hurling bodies into the air, and got his feet back on the ground.

The ground was shaking.

Cairax lumbered forward, looming over the horde. Another swipe hurled St. George back again. He tried to focus, tried to make himself light, and slammed into the wall. He slumped to the ground and the exes swarmed over him.

Behind him, the demon roared in delight.

* * * *

“Holy Christ,” said Billie as St. George hit the wall. She’d glanced back away from the street and was frozen. One of the other guards, a man with a dark unibrow turned and his jaw dropped. Ilya threw a look over his shoulder.

Looming over the buildings to the west, a huge sphere of blackness swelled, so dark they could see its edges against the night sky.

* * * *

Stealth heard the cries over the gunfire, saw the dark void swelling at the Gower gate, and knew what it was. The top priority was making Rodney lose control of whatever other dead heroes he had brought to the Mount.

She drew her weapons and leaped down into the crowd, her cloak spreading to slow her fall. The Glocks spat out two-four-six-eight rounds each before she landed in the space they’d carved for her in the mob. A quick split kick broke jaws on two exes. A sweep took down four and gave her a beat.

With one smooth motion she holstered both pistols, swung the cloak aside, and grabbed the two ASP batons stored across the small of her back. A flick of each wrist snapped two feet of black chrome into position. The move flowed into a pair of strikes that shattered heads on either side of her. The batons whipped out again and beat out a drumroll of broken bones, making sure none of the dead things she’d knocked down would ever get back up.

She spun and smashed one baton through a dead brunette’s forehead. The other cracked open a teenage boy’s skull. Her boot lashed out to break the neck of a pink-haired woman. An old man. A small girl caked in blood. A businessman. A police officer with a gaping hole in its chest. Her weapons cut through the air as she marched forward and exes dropped around her.

A heavy Asian woman fell and revealed a Seventeen with a green bandanna wrapped around his head. He was dizzy, still trying to shake off the sight of Gorgon’s eyes. He looked at Stealth, blinked, and tried to raise his rifle.

One baton struck the rifle barrel and jarred it from the Seventeen’s hands, even as its twin swung back to crush another zombie skull. Her grip switched and the first baton bounced up from the rifle to catch him under the chin. His mouth sagged. She brought the other down and broke his wrist, then drove a kick into his chest. He hit the ground just as the pain reached his brain and he tried to scream through the fractured jaw.

Four swings bought her another moment. She’d worked her way out past the gardens flanking the gate. The guards on the wall were putting exes down one after another, but it was like dropping pebbles to divert a flash flood. The Seventeens were firing at the Mount, but it was random. They were children playing a game, not an army.

Near the center of the intersection, she saw Rodney Casares bring his massive fists around and Gorgon leap out of the way. He threw a punch that sent the monstrous ex staggering back. If the Seventeens were recovering, the hero was already losing their strength.

Stealth spun through the mob. Her weapons put down seven exes and three Seventeens. A spinning kick crushed another skull, the batons crossed to force down a rifle, and a head butt left a gangster reeling.

She lunged forward and thrust the batons into either side of an ex’s head, a rough-looking man with a beard, and its skull caved in as the weapons collapsed back to their storage position. Her elbows sent two dead people stumbling back and her hands dipped forward to pull the Glocks out again.

Nine rounds dropped five exes, left two Seventeens screaming and clutching their knees, and gave her a clear shot at Rodney Casares, less than fifteen feet away.

She thumbed the selector and her right pistol emptied its magazine into the giant’s head. Eighteen rounds clustered on the cross tattoo. The huge ex staggered back and fell.

A Seventeen screamed and brandished his Uzi. She put a round through his knuckles and the machine gun’s magazine exploded in his hand. One of the trucks surged forward and two shots through the windshield brought it to a stop.

Gorgon glanced at her. “What the hell?”

“He has drawn Midknight down from the hills.”

“Fuck.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, bitch,” hissed Rodney. The enormous fist sent Stealth sprawling. Her body vanished back into the crowd of zombies and gangsters. The rounds had stripped away half his face down to the bone.

His right eye streamed down his face and over the gigantic teeth. A flap of skin the size and texture of a fried egg hung loose from the bottom of his jaw. “Now,” rumbled the dead thing to Gorgon, “round two. Ready to finish this?”

* * * *

Under a veil of shadows, the exes shook the Gower gate. They pulled. They pushed. They pulled. The metal spars of the gate screeched back and forth.

Lady Bee fired down into the zombie mob from her perch. The muzzle flash was dim and the sound was dull. “Keep at it,” she shouted. She traded out magazines and her AK spat a few more muffled rounds into the dead.

A handful of guards were cowering from the blackness. The rest were stabbing through the bars with their weapons.

Cerberus took an uneven step toward the gate. The battlesuit’s left leg twitched and jerked forward. It made her limp. “It’s Midknight and his damned EMP field,” she shouted, her voice full of static. “Whatshisname turned it back on full force.”

I know , yelled Zzzap.

One of the guards, the keen listener, lunged forward with his pike and stepped too far in the darkness. A withered hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him close enough for a second one to seize his forearm. He was dragged against the gate where dozens of hands and chattering jaws took him apart in seconds. His meat left bloodstains on the bars as it vanished into the crowd.

The battlesuit’s eyes flickered. “Can you take him out?”

Zzzap flew up and looked out over Gower. It was a cold blur to his eyes. Nothing alive. Nothing warm. Just a shapeless, shifting mass.

I can’t see him, shouted Zzzap. He’s just another dead thing.

At the squealing, shaking gate, someone else was screaming.

But only for a moment.