Ex-Communication: A Novel

by Peter Clines

  “Just to be safe,” she told Madelyn.

  I WAS DOWN in Venice. I don’t go there often. I’m not a big swimmer, and I’ve never surfed once. As the Mighty Dragon … well, there’s a lot of wind coming off the ocean. Even with the cape-wings, I can’t really glide down there, so my mobility gets cut down. It all just becomes exaggerated hops. And it makes me feel kind of silly. Yeah, I’m hopping fifty or sixty feet at a time, but it just seems undignified for a superhero to be bouncing around.

  But there’d been some weird stories coming out of Venice over the past month. People said a monster was stalking the boardwalk. I’d seen a news report saying it was a giant purple dinosaur (and, wow, did Fox make a lot of lame jokes about that). A few homeless folks who’d seen it said it was one of the aliens from the Sigourney Weaver movies.

  I knew of four heroes who’d taken up in L.A. There was me. There was the guy with the headgear, Gorgon. There was Midknight. And there was the ninja-Batgirl woman. I’d caught her watching me one night while I dealt with some muggers, but she was gone by the time I finished with them.

  I generally worked around my home. Hollywood, Los Feliz, a bit of Koreatown. Midknight was out in the Valley, Burbank usually. Gorgon was over on the west side, Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. The ninja-woman stayed around downtown and the Rampart district, but sometimes I’d hear stories of her in other parts of the city.

  No one covered the beaches. So after the fourth or fifth report of the monster, I decided to check it out. I drove over, parked in a corner of that big lot right at the end of Venice Boulevard, the one before the beach, and changed into my costume in the backseat. I figured enough surfers probably changed in and out of wetsuits there that I wouldn’t draw too much attention, even at night in December.

  It’s kind of silly, I know, but it surprised me when I learned the Venice Boardwalk was made of concrete. It’s just a big sidewalk. You hear “boardwalk” and you just think … well, wood. I thought the whole thing would look like the Santa Monica Pier.

  Anyway, I was coasting around in the sky as best I could and came in for a landing on one of those tall apartment buildings right on the waterfront. A few homeless people saw me and pointed. I’d been doing this for almost six months now. People tended to recognize the costume by this point. One guy with a shaggy beard saluted.

  Then I heard the wail. Somebody in a lot of pain. They yelled again and I saw a few of the people on the boardwalk scatter.

  A few steps launched me through the air and north along the beach. The wind knocked me around. I went maybe twenty or thirty yards and managed to land on a shop without slipping off and crashing.

  The cries were clearer now, but as I tried to pinpoint them they shifted. New voices started yelling. And they were scared. I was hearing screams, not yells.

  I got a better sense of where it was coming from, about two blocks away down the boardwalk, and just as I did three teenagers came running out of an alley. Three boys. They were gang age, but weren’t wearing any colors. What they were wearing looked a little too high-end for gangs, too. All just a little too shiny and new. I wasn’t an expert on footwear, but I was pretty sure those weren’t Payless sneakers.

  Whoever they were, they were terrified.

  I stepped off the rooftop to soar down to street level.

  The last kid was maybe a yard out of the alley when something reached out after him. At first I thought it was a spear or a board. Something long and thin that somebody’d thrown after them. Then the end split open and wrapped around the kid’s head like something out of a horror movie. The arm yanked him back into the alley.

  I was halfway to the ground. I shifted my cape and glided toward the alley. The other two kids ran below me. One of them gave me a glance, but they never looked back. The closest one smelled like piss.

  I ran over to the alley. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and see what the arm was attached to. I was right. It was something out of a horror movie.

  On a guess it was maybe nine or ten feet tall, but it was tough to be sure because it was hunched over. It was more or less human-shaped, but the proportions were off. It was too tall and thin, like a person who’d been stretched out on a rack and stayed that way. It made every step and swing of its arms seem unnatural. It had a tail that looked like a cross between a dinosaur and a scorpion.

  Its head looked like a fish. One of those deep-sea fish with the huge eyes and teeth so long it could barely close its mouth. Half a dozen stubby horns circled its scalp like a weird crown or something.

  It had the third kid by the ankles, hanging him upside down so the boy’s eyes and its were level. Its tongue was out, this long thing like a snake. It was poking the kid on the nose. The kid was bawling, almost drowning in his own snot. There was a glossy stain on his jeans and it was creeping into his shirt as it followed gravity.

  “Hey,” I shouted. “Put him down, whatever you are.”

  I felt stupid as soon as I said it. Monsters don’t generally understand English. It was going to take a bite out of the kid if I didn’t hurry up.

  But it didn’t. It turned to look at me. Its eyes shifted and it bared even more teeth.

  And then it spoke.

  “Well, well, well,” it said. It had a deep, cultured voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was that old British actor, Lee something, who’d been in Lord of the Rings and Man with the Golden Gun. “The Mighty Dragon,” it continued, “what a wonderful surprise this is. Please believe me when I say I am a great admirer of yours.”

  It flipped the kid in its hand—a huge, long-fingered hand, like its arms ended in spiders—and set him down on his feet. He ran as soon as his shoes were on the ground. I let him race past me to get clear.

  The monster took a step toward me. I noticed it was wearing a silver necklace, some pendant or something, the size of a halfdollar. Its claw-tipped fingers wiggled with excitement. “I must say, what an exquisite cologne you have on,” it said. “What is that scent?”

  I took a step back. Then another one, out of the alley. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  It followed me out onto the boardwalk. It wafted the air around its face and took in a deep breath through slitted nostrils. “Ahhh, of course,” it rumbled, “now I recognize it.” Its back curled and it leaned its head down toward mine. The pendant swung back and forth on its neck. Its mouth split in a toothy grin. “Fear.”

  I was a little freaked. It’s one thing to be fighting street gangs and pitching in on Amber alerts. It’s another when some CGI nightmare slithers out from between a few garage-stalls.

  In retrospect, my reaction was a little … well, comic-book, I guess. I mean, he could’ve been a stranded alien or something. I didn’t know. I just saw this big nightmare thing loping down the alley at me talking about fear.

  So I punched it.

  It hurt. Whatever it was, it was a lot more solid than it looked. It staggered back a few feet, but the tail lashed around to help it keep its balance. It reached up and felt its jaw, just like a person would. Its fingers were all stretched out, too, with big claws on the tips. I bet it could’ve palmed a car tire.

  I braced myself for it to charge and felt the tickle in the back of my throat that meant I had fire waiting.

  For a moment its face twisted up in a scowl. Pure rage. I was about to die. No doubt in my mind. But maybe I’d keep it from hurting a few more folks.

  Then it took a deep breath and let it out through the forest of teeth. “Ahhh,” it said. “Forgive me. I do sometimes speak out of turn.”

  “What?”

  It stood up straight, or as straight as it seemed able to do, and bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cairax Murrain, infernal viscount of the Abyss, Reaver Lord, and newly arrived hero of Los Angeles.” Its tail thrashed at this. It took a chunk out of one of the concrete trash cans that dotted the boardwalk.

  I was still a little confused. I think I said “What?” again.

  �
�We fight the same battles for the same cause, oh Mighty Dragon,” it said. “When I adopt this form, all my strengths and powers are set to the causes of truth, justice, and so on and so forth.”

  I risked a glance over my shoulder. “What were you doing with the kids?”

  The monster shook its head and made a clicking sound with its tongue. “Such a shame,” it said. “The bourgeoisie youths releasing their primal instincts on a helpless drunkard.”

  It gestured behind it. A homeless man with a bloody face was curled in a ball. While I watched he glanced up at the thing looming over him. He shook his head, whined, and buried his face deeper in his arms. AA was going to have a new member in the morning.

  “A nonviolent lesson was in order,” continued the monster. “Fear is such a wonderful deterrent, and whets the appetite as well. Although,” it said, striking a thoughtful pose, “was I all that different as a boy? Or is that just Cairax adjusting how I see my own memories?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what it was talking about, but I thought I was starting to get the gist of it. “You … you’re a person? A human being?”

  “Indeed. Hidden within this frame is one of the greatest sorcerers of our generation.”

  “Okay,” I said. I guess as back stories went it was interesting. “What was your name again?”

  “Cairax Murrain.”

  “Cairax,” I echoed. “Sorry about, y’know, the punch. I just saw a monster with a kid.”

  “Of course,” said Cairax with a dip of his head. “Although, what is it they say about first impressions?”

  “You only get one chance with them?”

  The monster grinned. “So often, they are correct.”

  ST. GEORGE HUNG in the air over the water tower. It wasn’t the highest point inside the Big Wall, but it was familiar to him. He needed a good dose of familiar.

  It had been two nights since Cairax had died or been banished or whatever. St. George had flown Freedom to the hospital. Stealth and Madelyn passed through the South Gate of the Big Wall forty minutes later, and ten minutes after that the exes were banging their teeth together again. There hadn’t been a sign of Legion since then.

  His own wounds were healing. As he’d learned the last time he fought the demon, his immune system was powerful enough to handle any disease he encountered. Dr. Connolly took a trio of blood samples this time. “Who knows how long it’ll be before something breaks your skin again,” she said.

  Freedom was still in intensive care. His ribs had been set and taped, and he’d received several transfusions. Freedom’s massive frame held over fifteen pints of blood, and he’d lost more than six. His soldiers had lined up to donate. Even the ones who didn’t match his type insisted on donating to the slowly growing blood bank.

  He was racked with disease. Connolly was pretty sure Cairax Murrain’s last gift to Freedom was a fast-acting case of the bubonic plague. The huge officer was in quarantine with three different IVs filling him with fluids and antibiotics. St. George had wanted to try a transfusion, to see if his blood would help Freedom fight off the disease, but he was the wrong blood type. “Besides,” Connolly told him, “I’m not entirely sure your blood wouldn’t treat his whole body as an infection.”

  Last St. George had heard, she was prepping an ice bath to bring the captain’s temperature down but expected him to make an eventual recovery. “It would’ve killed anyone else by now,” she said, “but the man’s got the constitution of a bull elephant.”

  The sun came up seven hours early and bathed the water tower in brilliant light. St. George’s musings vanished with the darkness. I thought I might find you here.

  “Hey,” he said. “What are you doing out of the chair?”

  I asked Stealth if I could come talk to you.

  “And she said yes?”

  Yeah. Most folks are already asleep, and there’s hours of battery life.

  “So,” he asked his friend, “what’s up?”

  I just wanted to say good-bye.

  St. George smiled. “You flew over here to tell me you’re going back to Four?”

  No, George. I came to say good-bye.

  A faint chill shimmied down St. George’s back. “What do you mean?”

  Now that I know what I am, I realize I’m not supposed to be here.

  “What?”

  Zzzap tilted his head back and looked out into space. It’s time to return to my place in the heavens. Time to embrace my destiny.

  “Barry, what the hell are you talking about?”

  Good-bye, George. You’ve been a good friend. I’ll miss you.

  “Wait, you can’t be seri—”

  The gleaming wraith shot up into the sky, a falling star in reverse. In an instant he was one pinprick of light among thousands. Another star in the night.

  And then he was gone.

  St. George stared up into the sky, his jaw still open, unsure what had just happened. The after-image of Zzzap still burned his eyes. He shouted his friend’s name, then yelled it again over their private radio channel.

  No response.

  He sank down and the heels of his new boots clanged against the roof of the water tower.

  Then a bolt of light shot down out of the night and halted in front of him.

  Nah, I’m just screwing with you, said Zzzap.

  “You bastard,” said St. George. “I think I just had three different heart attacks.”

  Let’s be real. This place would fall apart inside of a week without me.

  “So you don’t think you’re an archangel now?”

  Oh, hell no, said the gleaming wraith. Last thing I want is to be a religious figurehead. Plus, isn’t there a law or a commandment about impersonating God or something like that?

  “Maybe the one about false idols?”

  Yeah, that sounds about right. Besides, I was just a good symbolic representation of an archangel, not the real deal.

  They hung there for a moment, looking down at the city. So many people had moved out when the Big Wall was done, the population of the Mount itself had dropped to almost nothing. It was clearest at night, when they could see how few lights there were at the center of their square mile of city.

  So, Zzzap said. Maddy Sorensen’s really the Swamp Thing, huh?

  “What?”

  Swamp Thing. “Anatomy Lesson” by Alan Moore?

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is this another television show?”

  No, said the wraith. Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m … You know what, forget it. It’s not my fault you’ve got huge holes in your education.

  “Fine.”

  I was referring to the fact she’s ninety percent nanites or whatever she is.

  “How’d you hear about that?”

  Dr. Connolly told me about it while I was getting checked out after we got back. We were talking about Freedom and Dr. Sorensen, and then Maddy came up.

  “She’s supposed to be keeping it a secret.”

  Zzzap nodded. She is. I think she just figured since I was one of the cool kids I’d be hearing about it sooner or later. He turned in the air and looked northwest, toward the hospital. Are you going to tell her?

  St. George shrugged. “I don’t know. This is up there with ‘you’ve got cancer’ or ‘your wife is dead’ or that sort of thing. I think if we decide to tell her it needs someone better trained than me.”

  I think it’s probably better if it comes from you.

  “How do you figure?”

  You know she’s got a huge crush on you, right?

  “What?”

  Yep.

  “Ignoring the twice-her-age thing, I thought she was into Freedom.”

  The gleaming wraith shook his head. He’s the big brother she always wanted. I think he’s fine with that, too. It’s letting him deal with that rucksack of guilt he’s always carrying around. You’re the one she’s having schoolgirl dreams about.

  “I doubt it.”

  George, trust me. One
thing life in a wheelchair has given me is amazing powers of perception regarding when women are interested or thinking of you as a friend.

  St. George chuckled. “Great.”

  That’s how I can tell Stealth’s really in love with you.

  “What?”

  I mean, I could tell at dinner, I just hadn’t figured out who she was. But she’s crazy about you, George.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I needed to hear that right now.”

  Thought so.

  “One question, though.”

  Shoot.

  “If your powers of perception are so fantastic, why’d it take you so long to realize it was her?”

  The gleaming wraith shifted in the air a bit. Honest truth?

  “Sure.”

  I know this sounds a little wrong coming from me, but … well, I always figured Stealth was white under the mask.

  St. George laughed.

  You know, probably some uber-blonde like Tricia Helfer or Rebecca Romjin. I wasn’t expecting Zoe Saldana’s hotter, older sister. It kind of threw me, that’s all.

  “I think I thought that for a while, too,” said St. George, “and then it just didn’t matter what she looked like.”

  A voice crackled over his headset. Zzzap’s head tilted, watching the radio signals buzz through the air. “Hey, boss,” said the voice. “It’s Makana over at the East Gate. You on?”

  He turned in the air and tapped his mic. “Go for St. George.”

  “That you and Zzzap up there on the tower?”

  The gleaming wraith waved to the east and let off a pulse of light. “Yeah, it’s us,” said St. George. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got kind of a thick patch of exes over here, heading up to the Corner. We’re not cleared for shots, but I was wondering if you’d want to come thin them out a bit?”

  “We’ll be right over,” said St. George. He looked over at his friend. “Want to go throw some zombies around?”