by Peter Clines
And we weren’t winning. No other way to look at it. I was sleeping three hours a night and still wasn’t making any headway. Banzai was dead. Blockbuster was dead. Cairax was dead. Regenerator was crippled and powerless. Despite dozens of emergency bulletins and training seminars, the number of exes was still growing. It was almost inevitable.
The sun brushed the horizon. “Thank you for meeting me.” Stealth stood a dozen or so feet behind me. As usual. God, she was hot. “Well, it was this or use the time to eat a meal,” I said. She didn’t laugh, so I coughed and tried to brush past it. “What’s up?”
“You are no longer hiding your identity?” I looked at the black and green mask in my hand. The face of the Mighty Dragon. “Well, as I see it, it’s moot either way. I’m pretty sure you already know who I am. Probably where I live and how I voted in the past three elections. As for everyone else …” I threw another look out at the darkened metropolis and shrugged. “I don’t think there are enough people left to make a secret identity worth the effort.” She nodded. “I would like to discuss our options, George.”
“What do you mean?” Her hips were like a beautiful pendulum beneath the camocloak as she walked to stand next to me. We looked out at the dying city.
“Los Angeles has been lost.” As much as I knew it, no one had said it yet. We were still fighting, still holding blocks and stations. Cerberus fought her way over the hill with half a rifle platoon of Marines and cleaned out a good length of Sunset Boulevard in the process. Gorgon was keeping the base at Hollywood and Cahuenga safe, using survivors as batteries to keep his strength up. Zzzap was still trying to split time among four different cities. “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
“With that understood,” she said, “I believe our energies are now best spent preparing for a prolonged siege. I have a secure area where we can protect a number of people. Certain preparations have already been made.”
“Isn’t there some sort of government plan we should be following? They must have something worked out.” She shook her head. “The State of California and the CDC each had three possible contingency plans for a major Los Angeles viral outbreak. All six have been rendered impossible either from lack of resources or because the outbreak has spread past the established containment parameters. Under ideal circumstances, their only option at this point is sterilization.” It took a moment for that to sink in. “Wait …you’re talking about, what, they’re going to nuke the city or something?” The hooded woman nodded. “That is the CDC’s fallback position for an epidemic this virulent and dangerous. However, the disease is already too widespread. Destroying every city in the country would not eliminate it, and there are not enough pilots left to perform the number of required missions.”
“So …what are they going to do?”
“CDC in Atlanta stopped responding to queries seventeen hours ago. Zzzap has investigated and can see no signs of life from their command building. He believes it has been overrun or abandoned.”
“Abandoned?”
“Air Force One has gone to radio silence. The governor is missing and his mansion has been destroyed by rioters. We are operating on our own.”
“Jesus.” I heard something click on the rooftop and realized I’d dropped my mask. She kept talking in the same calm voice, as if the end of the world was something she dealt with all the time. “There are still thousands of survivors scattered across the city. People who have endured in fortified buildings or complexes.
Individuals, families, and in a few places I have seen groups of several dozen.
Our first priority will be to assess these survivors and gather them to a single, secure location.”
“What were you thinking?” She pointed southeast. “You are familiar with Paramount Studios?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Just under thirty acres of area. Five major entrances, two minor, all easily sealed. Two underground tunnels. The walls are eight feet at their shortest point, in the northeast corner, and are topped by outwardcurving spikes. It is an ideal fortress.” I tried to picture the big, wrought-iron gates. “Couldn’t you say that about most of the studios? I think Universal City is bigger.” She shook her head. “I have made several observations and believe Paramount has the best combination of existing resources, defensibility, and long-term potential.”
“And where do we fit in?”
“There will be rogue elements inside and out. We shall serve as protectors and wardens until some system of government can be reinstated.”
“You and me?”
“All of us who are left here in Los Angeles. Myself, you, Gorgon, Zzzap, Midknight, Cerber—”
“Midknight’s dead.” She twitched. “What?”
“Yesterday. You didn’t know? He was overwhelmed at one of the checkpoints near the Hollywood Bowl.” I scratched the back of my neck.
“He’s already walking again.”
“I see.”
“Thought you didn’t make mistakes?”
“Everyone makes mistakes. I merely make far fewer than most.”
“To be honest, I was surprised he made it this long. His power was kind of defensive, you know? Not much good against exes.”
“You disposed of him?” I shrugged and made a fist around my hair. It was getting long in the back. On the ground, my mask stared up at me. I knew I wouldn’t be picking it up. The Mighty Dragon, dead on the roof of the Kodak Theater.
Another ex-hero. “I took him up into Griffith Park,” I told her. “That’s where I’ve been dropping our people if they turn.”
“He is dangerous if his powers are still active.”
“They are,” I said. “He probably is.” I looked back out over the dead metropolis and let a few streamers of smoke thread their way out of my nose. “George?”
“I had to put down Blockbuster last week, you know. I was the only one strong enough to break his neck.”
“He was doing a phenomenal amount of property damage as an ex,” she said. “He walked straight through seven blocks of Beverly Hills.
Over forty-three structures were leveled.” The day was almost gone. The sky was burning up, and shadows stretched across the city. I hadn’t watched a sunset in over a year. “It’s been a very long summer,” I said. “I didn’t feel like killing anyone else I knew. If you like, I can take you up where I dropped him and you can do it. He’ll be easy to find.” She didn’t respond, and for a moment I thought she’d vanished again. “That will not be necessary,” she said. “Good.” I looked her in the face. “So, what’s your plan to save Los Angeles?”
“You are a symbol among heroes and civilians alike. They will all accept your recommendations and follow where you lead. We can begin to contact survivors and guide them to the Mount.”
“The Mount?”
“A simple abbreviation. It conveys a sense of stability and defense rather than reminding them of the illusions film creates.”
“Good point.”
“I believe we can have the majority of the city’s survivors there in four to six weeks. With a few simple questions and reviews, we should be able to create a balanced and optimum population. Doctors, teachers, engineers, and others who will have the most long-term usefulness.
I believe we can then prepare—”
“No.” She twitched again. “What?”
“No.” It was a moment of clarity. One of the first ones I’d had in several weeks of hard decisions and acceptable losses. “If we do this, if you want my help with it, it isn’t some stupid selection process where we pick and choose a few hundred who we decide are worth it. We just save everyone we can.”
“The studio lot cannot support thousands of people.”
“Not as it is, no. But we could adapt more of the buildings to housing, plant gardens, do things to make it work. I won’t be part of a plan that involves leaving most people outside to fend for themselves.”
“A limited selection is our best hope for survival.”
“If that
’s our best hope then we shouldn’t survive.” Her head shifted ever-so-slightly. I had enough female friends to recognize the gaze I was getting. “Look,” I said, “this is going to sound really stupid, but you have to understand something.” I passed my hand across the red-scaled suit.
It was stained and fraying but it still glimmered in the fading sunlight. “You called me a symbol, and you’re right. This suit stands for something. It isn’t me living some childhood fantasy or anything like that. It’s about hope.”
“Hope?” I took in a deep breath, and smoke twisted around my head as I let it slip through my teeth. “Do you know what my favorite show was when I was a little kid?” The look again. “I would have no idea.”
“ Doctor Who . British sci-fi show.”
“I am familiar with it. Christopher Eccleston, David Tennant, and Matt—”
“No,” I said. “The new show’s great, but I grew up on the old one. The low-budget, rubber monster show with Tom Baker and Peter Davison. I watched it on PBS all the time as a kid.” I looked out at the dark ruins of Hollywood, at the stumbling shadows dotting the streets as far as you could see. The only other living person within half a mile was standing behind me, her eyes boring into my head. “The Doctor didn’t have superpowers or weapons or anything like that. He was just a really smart guy who always tried to do the right thing. To help people, no matter what. That struck me when I was a kid. The idea that no matter how cold and callous and heartless the world seemed, there was somebody out there who just wanted to make life better. Not better for worlds or countries in some vague way. Just better for people trying to live their lives, even if they didn’t know about him.” I turned back to her and tapped my chest. “That’s what this suit’s always been about. Not scaring people like you or Gorgon do. Not some sort of pseudosexual roleplay or repressed emotions. I wear this thing, all these bright colors, because I want people to know someone’s trying to make their lives better. I want to give them hope.” She was quiet for a long time. “I see.”
“Good. Because I won’t let you do what you’re talking about doing. I’m not going to cherry-pick people who you think will be ‘useful’ and leave everyone else to die.” She stared at me for a long moment. I could feel her eyes even through the mask. Then she nodded. “If you feel this is the right path, I shall trust your judgment.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and nodded back. “It will require more work,” she said, “but we should be able to rescue the majority of the survivors.”
“Thank you.”
“As I was saying before, with your reassurances we should be able to gather the majority of the survivors to the Mount within four to six weeks. That number should hold even with the expanded scope of this venture.”
“How can we promise them it’ll be safe?”
“You and Cerberus can reinforce the entrances.”
“With what?”
“Production vehicles and trucks. Either of you can tip them and move them into position, giving us solid walls at any gate. Once the facility is sealed, Zzzap can search all of it in an hour. We could have the lot clean and secure in two days time.”
“How do we keep it clean, though? I’ve seen the movies.
People could come in infected.” She shook her head. “There is no evidence the virus can pass except through blood contact. All survivors will be strip-searched for bites or injuries before being allowed to enter.” I mulled over the idea. “That won’t go over well with a lot of folks.”
“It is necessary. Keeping the Mount clean and free of infection must be our primary concern.”
“And us? Pardon the reference but …who watches the watchmen?”
“You, Zzzap, and Cerberus are all effectively immune since the exes cannot reach your respective bloodstreams. The three of you will observe and examine the rest of us for bites or possible infection.” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to submit to a strip search?” Stealth tilted her head, and I could feel the icy stare. “I will allow Cerberus to examine as much of my body as she deems necessary.
There is no way an attack on my head or face could be hidden.”
“Okay, then,” I said, banishing that set of thoughts. “What do we do if they don’t want to come?”
“You think they will doubt us?” I looked out at the city. “I think people are doubting everything right now. After a few months of martial law and the walking dead, we’re going to have an uphill battle making them believe anything’s okay.”
“I have no doubt you can convince them they will be completely safe within the Mount,” she said. “The populace of Los Angeles all but worships you as a saint.”
Epilogue
NOW
St. George stood on the water tower and looked out across the darkened city. The sky was getting brighter but the night still held its ground in places. Some of the exes had wandered away, but thousands still mobbed the walls of the Mount. He could hear their teeth echoing in the air.
“I imagine this view was impressive in the years before.”
Stealth stood behind him, one leg raised on the steep cone of the tower’s top.
“It was,” he said. “I came here once or twice.”
He stepped off to the side, taking the antenna in his hand for balance. She took a few lunging steps up to stand next to him and nodded at his sling. “I was under the impression you were confined to bed.”
“One of the joys of superpowers. You can almost always go somewhere the doctor can’t chase you.”
“Are you going to recover?”
“Yeah.” He lifted his bandaged arm. “The wounds weren’t that bad. Well, all things considered.”
“And the virus?”
St. George shook his head. “Doc Connolly’s amazed. She’s wanted a blood sample from me for a year now. Apparently my immune system’s so powerful it’s killing everything Cairax dumped into me. My white blood cells are a cure for hepatitis, malaria, HIV, pretty much anything you can think of.”
“I am not surprised.”
The hero nodded. “It just sucks there’s no way to get at them once I’m healed.”
“Always the giver,” she said. “Always the saint.”
“Was that a joke?”
“Perhaps.”
“I guess today’s a miracle on several levels, then.”
The mountains to the east burned red. They watched the shadows shrink. Automatic lights flickered and went out across the Mount, and over on Stage Four Zzzap relaxed a little in the electric chair.
“So,” the tall hero said, “what are you going to do with Josh?”
Stealth bowed her head to examine the dark gardens below the water tower. “I do not know,” she admitted. “Word of what he did will leak to the populace, yet I am no longer confident I can decide the punishment for a crime of such scale.”
“And he can’t be killed,” added St. George.
“Yes. Which limits our options. Cerberus has locked him in a cell for now. I believe she wants to starve him.”
He lifted his chin. “We shouldn’t do that.”
“I agree.”
“Thank you.”
“There are larger issues to consider,” said the hooded woman. “The Seventeens are broken. We are now the only significant force left in Los Angeles.”
“How many people are still back at their little kingdom?”
“Almost nineteen thousand. Now with minimal protection and resources.”
“No way we can fit them all in the Mount.”
“None at all.”
The tallest buildings in the city were already glowing. St. George looked at the distant cluster of Century City and imagined the work crews he’d seen. “Zzzap and Cerberus could head down there,” he said. “Give them power for a while, and she’s a definite morale boost. We could get by with the generators and solar cells.”
“An adequate temporary solution. We will need a long-term one, however.”
He smiled. “If you’re saying tha
t, it means you already have one.”
“Gower Street Studios is six blocks north of us. Ren-Mar is four blocks to the west. They are substantially smaller, but it would be possible to adapt the stages there into housing much as we did here. We could do the same with Raleigh Studios.”
“You always said Raleigh was too hard to defend. And it’s still not enough room.”
“It is a start.”
He looked at the roads outside the Mount’s walls. “You know,” he said, “we could do what they did. Use cars to block off streets. We could expand our perimeter, get all four stages inside one wall. One safe zone. It’d take some work, but we could do Sunset to Beverly, Vine to Western.”
“That would be almost a square mile. Difficult to patrol.”
“Not with another nineteen thousand people.”
“It would take close to a year.”
“Probably.”
Stealth looked out over the lot. “Do you think the general populace would be willing to begin such a project?”
“To have some hope,” he said. “A real purpose? Yeah, I think they’d all be up for that. I think they’d do almost anything so they can think the future’s going to be better.”
To the west, the night was concentrating its darkness for one last hurrah. In the east, the black had faded to dark blue and now light blue. Across the Mount a few birds chirped and sang.
“Will it be?”
“What?”
“I am not an optimist by nature, George. Will the future be better?”
He looked down at their home. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? We can sit in here and worry about what might happen or we can go out and do what we can to make a difference.” He shrugged. “We’re superheroes. We’ll make it better. That’s what we do.”
She followed his gaze and nodded. “Karen.”
“Sorry?”
The cloaked woman continued to look across the Mount as the shadows faded away. “My name is Karen.”
St. George started to open his mouth and thought better. He gave her a nod as the sun broke over the distant mountains.