Ex-Heroes

Three NOW

St. George dropped down to the cab’s running boards. “You still want to head over to Vermont and straight up?”

The driver nodded. “Nice and clear all the way to Hollywood Boulevard. That’s where you wanted to start, right?”

The hero nodded.

Big Red rolled down Melrose. St. George and Cerberus had spent weeks clearing off the roads surrounding the Mount. Here and there exes stumbled out of open doors or from behind wrecked cars. They staggered and loped toward the truck with grasping arms, then forgot it when it was a block away.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Lady Bee as St. George swung back up to the roof rack. “I bet Spider-Man would kick your ass.”

He peered over his sunglasses at her. “What?”

“Spider-Man,” she said. “If the two of you fought, he would totally kick your ass.”

“Spider-Man’s not real, y’know. He’s a comic book character.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“I never had a comic book.”

Lady Bee swung her head and her rifle back and forth, watching the sides of the road. She was wearing a shirt a size too small under her motorcycle jacket, and whenever she turned to the left he caught a glimpse of the fire-red bra she was wearing between the buttons. “In that movie he held up a whole warehouse wall,” she pointed out. “To save his girlfriend.”

“That’s a movie. It’s special effects. They did it with computers and stuff.”

She grinned. “Can you?”

“Can I what? Lift a wall?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess it depends on the woman.” He shook his head. “Probably not. The most I can lift is about three and a half tons. Maybe four if I’m worked up.”

“So Spider-Man would kick your ass.”

“Okay, fine. If Spider-Man was real, and we decided to fight for some reason, yes, he would probably kick my ass.”

Bee nodded. “See? You’re not that great.”

“Whatever.” He looked back down Melrose. “Is this your idea of flirting?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t think you’re doing it right.”

“Maybe.” Her head swung back and forth again. “You know, Superman would mop the floor with you. It wouldn’t even be a fight.”

* * * *

Next to Cerberus, a skinny brunette clutched at the pike she’d been assigned. The end was a gleaming spear tip, either from the prop house or the top of a flagpole. Her shoulders hunched every time a new ex appeared, and her knuckles whitened on the wooden shaft.

“Haven’t come out often?” asked the metal titan. She shook her head. “My second time since I came to the Mount.”

“When was that?”

“Almost a year ago.” Cerberus dipped her armored chin. “Just remember, you’re faster and smarter than them. Stay calm, don’t do anything stupid, and it’s almost impossible for anything to go wrong.” The girl nodded. “I’m Lynne.”

“Cerberus.”

“Yeah. I know.”

They crossed Western without incident. The heroes had cleared the street by hand months ago, moving cars onto the sidewalk as searches expanded further and further from the Mount. As Big Red came up over a hill, looking down at the overpass for the Hollywood Freeway, Luke let up on the gas. “You see what I see?” he asked the men in the cab.

St. George stood up, getting a view of the road ahead.

Both sides of the overpass were clogged with automobiles. Cars and trucks stacked on top of each other and wedged beneath the concrete bridge. St. George could see a bright green cab, an LAPD squad car, and two motorcycles in the pile.

Lady Bee pulled a set of binoculars from the large mailman’s bag she wore. “I count at least a dozen exes,” she said. “All staying down.”

Luke let Big Red come to a stop a few blocks away, across from a gas station. He glanced up at the hero on the roof. “You’re the boss,” he said with a shrug. “What’s your call?”

St. George dropped to the pavement. “Safeties off, everyone,” he called out. “Stay sharp until we know what’s up.”

The back doors of the cab opened up and the men slid out with weapons ready. Lady Bee stood up on top of the cab and swept the area with her bright eyes. Behind her the pikes clattered to the truck bed as more rifles swung up. Cerberus turned and lumbered to the front of the truck, her head even with Bee’s. She glanced down at Barry, still asleep in his nest of blankets.

St. George took a few steps and then one leap carried him the three blocks to the roadblock. An ex lay there in a heap, a heavy Latino woman. A bullet hole pierced her forehead above her left eye and another one through her right cheek made half of her face sag.

He reached up, grabbed the axle of a Civic, and tugged. He braced himself and gave another hard pull. The Civic shifted back a foot with a shriek of metal. “They’re in tight,” he shouted over his shoulder.

He walked back to Big Red and checked the exes on the ground. Two were decapitated. One large male had his skull shattered. Gunshot wounds decorated the rest.

“They all down?” asked Lady Bee as she scanned the bodies.

He nodded. “We got an alternate route from here, Luke?”

The driver glanced up the cross street. “We can try going up Normandie,” he said. “Haven’t used it anytime recently, though. It’s a narrow street. If someone blocked this, they could block that, easy.”

“Also seems like that’s just what we’d be expected to do at this point,” said Cerberus. She’d turned up the volume of her speakers and her voice echoed.

“Then we go through.” St. George looked up at her. “Can you clear it?”

The steel skull turned to the overpass. “You want it done fast or quiet?”

“A little of both, maybe?”

She nodded. “Give me ten minutes.” Big Red trembled as she moved back to the lift gate.

“A couple exes coming up the road behind us,” said Luke with a glance at his mirrors. “One’s pretty close.”

“You guys got ’em?”

The two men riding the lift gate down with the battlesuit gave St. George a quick thumbs-up. “Not a problem,” said Jarvis.

Cerberus stomped across the open road to the overpass. One armored arm swung up, seized the Civic axle, and yanked. The compact car flew out of the stack and skittered across the street. Her metal fingers clamped on the squad car’s rear end and dragged it free of the tangle of vehicles.

“You think it’s the Seventeens?” asked Luke.

“Can’t think of anyone else it could be,” said the hero. “Although this is the biggest thing I’ve seen them try so far.”

“Fire in the hole,” called someone. A rifle cracked from the back of the truck. Half a block back an ex slumped to the pavement.

Cerberus dragged another car out with a squeal of metal on metal. She swung her arms and tossed it to the side of the road with a crunch. She’d dismantled half the roadblock already.

“Movement,” said Lady Bee. “I’ve got three more exes coming from the south, two from the north.”

“We’ve got two more behind us, too,” said Jarvis.

Lady Bee did another sweep with her binoculars. “I count nine, all within two blocks. More past them. We’ve got five minutes, tops.”

“We’re moving in less than five,” said St. George. “Let’s not start wasting ammo yet.”

Big Red ’s engine rumbled.

Cerberus shoved a blue Prius up onto the curb and kicked the last motorcycle away with a spray of sparks. A few blinks inside her helmet switched on the armor’s night vision scopes, and she examined the shadowy underside of the freeway overpass. Some jagged, green graffiti spelled out PEASY RULES. Nothing else.

Her footsteps echoed on the concrete pillars. Another set of blinks brought up the long-range lenses. She studied Melrose as far as she could see for signs of life or ex-life.

Nothing.

She plodded back under the bridge and into the sunlight again. “Clock’s ticking,” shouted St. George from the truck. “Everything okay?”

She gave him a heavy nod. “How’s that look?” she bellowed back with a wave at the overpass.

Luke gave her a thumbs-up from the cab and Big Red rolled forward. St. George walked alongside until they reached the overpass. Cerberus was still gazing down Melrose. He rapped her on the arm. “Something wrong?”

Her head shook. “I don’t know. Something feels wrong.”

“How so?”

The suit swept its gaze back and forth across the overpass. “Not sure,” she said. She shrugged her massive shoulders.

“Mount up for now. We’ll figure it out.” He hopped past her as she rode the lift gate back up. “You okay for power?”

“I’ve got another ninety-one minutes at peak, three hours of idling.” She dipped her head at Barry, a fetal ball in the blankets. “Let him sleep. It’s not like he gets to that often.”

The lift gate locked into position and St. George leapt to the roof of the cab. Lady Bee gave him a wink and settled back on her pillow.

There was a gas station at Vermont, drained dry three months back by an earlier expedition. They were turning onto Vermont when Lynne, the teenager, stumbled to the front of the swaying truck. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You guys are the only heroes left, right? I mean, you and the ones back at the Mount.”

“As far as we know, yeah,” said St. George. “We know some are dead and a few are exes.”

“Were there any supervillains? You know, like in the movies?”

“Not that we know of.”

“So who stacked up the cars like that?”

“We think it was the SS. The South Seventeens. They were one of the gangs from the Koreatown area, like the XV3s. There are other survivors in LA, but they’re not all quite as civic-minded as us.”

“No,” she said shaking her head. “I mean how’d they do it? How’d they cram them all under the bridge?”