by Peter Clines
The cloaked woman nodded. “Which is why Smith required the ex-soldiers. If he had a full battalion at his command, why would he waste resources to create such inferior warriors?”
Another burst of gunfire from one of the far lines of the triangle. A mob of exes was coming in from the north. The soldiers were taking slow, steady shots. Almost every one made an ex collapse.
St. George straightened himself up. He was still ten inches shorter than Freedom, but he didn’t let it show. “You haven’t failed,” he said. “If Stealth’s right, there’s still a lot of people here depending on you.”
“I know there’s at least two guys back there in towers,” said Danielle.
“What are you suggesting?”
“What we’ve been talking about all along,” said St. George. “We merge groups. You come back to Los Angeles with us,” said St. George.
Freedom’s back got straight. “You’re saying we should abandon our post?”
“You do not have a post to abandon,” said Stealth. “As you yourself stated, this base has not existed as a functioning entity for over a year.”
“Your people are smart and well-trained,” said St. George. “There’s probably stuff we could be doing out there we’ve never even thought of. You can plan out your next move somewhere safe. Until then, we can help each other out.”
Freedom looked past the fences at the dead things throwing themselves against the barriers. “Legion has us surrounded.”
“And very outnumbered,” said Kennedy.
“His efforts, however, are all built upon the premise that we are fighting to defend the base,” said Stealth. “It is possible he also does not realize Krypton’s true status. This gives us a tactical advantage.”
How’s that?
Freedom glanced up. “He thinks we’re static. He won’t be expecting us to retreat from the base.”
Stealth looked up at the captain. “Can your people implement a covert evacuation? We must not let Legion suspect or he will alter his own strategy.”
“We’ve already got a lot of the armory here,” said Freedom. “We can gather food, medical supplies, and other expendables under the same premise—centralizing it for the defense.”
“Vehicles, too,” said Danielle. “Bring them in like you’re using them to shore up defenses at the weak points. Then people can pile into them and go on the signal.”
Captain Freedom took in a breath and spent half a minute letting it out.
“First Sergeant,” he said. “We’re switching from Red Sand to Dead Moon.”
“Yes sir.” Kennedy reached for her microphone but Stealth stopped her.
“You must assume Legion has acquired at least one radio,” she said. “The only broadcast communications should further the illusion we are holding positions. The real strategy should be spread by couriers.”
“And I want reorganization right now,” said Freedom. “Squads of ten, count them off, no assumptions. Everyone goes everywhere together.”
St. George glanced up at the pale wraith. “Dead Moon?”
Yeah, said Zzzap, doesn’t sound too inspiring to me, either.
* * *
St. George heaved the heavy steel pipe onto his shoulder and kicked another ex away. Dead men and women clawed at him and chipped their teeth on his skin. He shook the pole and the ones walking across the fallen chainlink were knocked off their feet.
Zzzap had done another fly-by and incinerated dozens of zombies as they moved for the gap between the two guard towers. It gave St. George a window. Not a huge one, but hopefully enough. He walked the pole up, foot by foot. The fence rose with it. The chainlink panels sagged, but they went up until the fence was standing again. A few strands of barbed wire rustled loose from the top and hung like creepers. “How’s that look?”
Zzzap looked to the towers and both soldiers gave a thumbs up. Pretty good, he shouted back. I think it’ll work for now.
St. George tried to pack the ground back around the concrete mass at the base of the post. He kicked dirt and sand into the hole and stomped it down. Something tickled his ear and he turned to see another ex reaching for him. He slammed his elbow back and it flew away.
The hero hopped over the sad fence and grabbed two of the exes that had tumbled inside when it went up. Their skulls crashed together with a sound like wood breaking and he reached for two more. Their teeth stopped chattering and they turned to look at him.
“Come on,” they said. “You think this’ll stop me? I’ll have this back down in an hour.”
St. George slammed their heads together and the bodies dropped. He grabbed another by the neck and it twisted around to leer at him.
“An hour? Hell, twenty minutes and I’ll be munching on your friends.”
He pulled back and hurled the dead woman up over the fence. His wounded arm flared with pain as he did. On the other side exes were pulling at the chainlink, throwing their weight back and forth.
The last ex, a teenage boy wearing a tattered Circle K shirt, glared at him. “Don’t you get it? Killing me just made me unbeatable. I’m more powerful than you—”
Yeah, yeah. The air rippled and Zzzap let his fingers sink into the dead boy’s skull. The stringy hair and dry skin caught fire. The gray eyes sizzled away. Struck you down, more powerful than we can possibly imagine, get some original material, you halfwit. The ex dropped to the ground with smoke pouring out of its skull. The wraith let out a buzzing sigh.
“You okay?”
I’m wiped. I’ve got to be honest... I don’t know how much more use I’m going to be to you.
St. George looked over at the tower guards. They’d rushed down to a waiting Humvee. One of them manned the machine gun on the roof. “Can you recharge Cerberus one more time,” he asked, “maybe hold it together for a little while longer?”
How long is that?
“If we don’t ask you to do anything else but be a presence... a day or two?”
Ouch, said the wraith. You serious?
“I need you here, Barry. They need to see us. At night they need to see you.”
Yeah, yeah, I know, sighed Zzzap. We’re heroes and all that.
* * *
Another truck pulled into formation. The back was filled with a heap of coats, boots, blankets, and other dry goods.
The triangle of soldiers by the main gate had been replaced by a ring of almost forty vehicles, all facing the same direction. Humvees, trucks, another Guardian. Soldiers sat in the turrets and used the heavy guns on the exes at the gate.
Stealth and Kennedy agreed regular jeeps wouldn’t offer enough protection and skipped over them. It also helped when one of the ex-soldiers stumbled across a parking lot that still had vehicles in it. The cloaked woman looked at the circled vehicles. “How many more?”
“Three. One more truck, two Humvees. But Jefferson hasn’t reported in. Neither has King. We may have lost them.”
As she spoke another truck rumbled up. It stopped outside the circle and the driver leaped out. His jacket was slashed in a dozen places. He reached back into the cab and dragged Jefferson out. “Medic!”
Two men ran for the wounded soldier. Stealth and Kennedy approached the driver more cautiously.
“Didn’t think you’d be joining us, specialist,” said Kennedy.
“Yeah, well, you know me, First Sergeant,” said Taylor. The battered soldier lowered Jefferson into the waiting arms of the medics and then spat out a mouthful of blood. “Always ending up on the wrong fucking team.”
* * *
Freedom had joined Pierce, Twenty-two, and the Real Men at the southern breach. There were only twenty-seven of them left. He wasn’t sure how many there had been to start with.
It was a clean break through the fence here. No chance of repairing it. Legion didn’t seem to be focusing much here, so at least the exes were providing easy targets. The soldiers had put down so many of them the ground was an uneven morass of bodies. Most of the walking dead stumbled and fell thre
e or four times as they crossed the fence line. The air was filled with the sounds of gunfire and chattering teeth.
Three Humvees had joined them. The soldiers had fallen back around the vehicles. It was going to be tight, but it only had to get them back across the base.
He spun a new drum, his last one, onto Lady Liberty and blew the head off another ex. His radio crackled. “Unbreakable Six, this is Unbreakable Seven,” said Kennedy’s voice.
“Seven, this is Six.”
“Six, this is Seven. Wagons are circled at position one, sir. The Dragon and Sparky are falling back to our position as well.”
A new voice broke in on the channel. “You did not just call me ‘Sparky,’ did you?”
“Seven, this is Six,” said the captain. “Roger.”
“Seriously. I have a code name.”
Freedom pulled out his earbud and looked over his shoulder. He’d done his morning run past this length of fence thousands of times since he joined Project Krypton. He could see the backsides of two barracks. The post exchange was just visible between two of them, on the far side of the street someone had named Deadwood. Far past that, he could see the building with his office and the hospital where Sorensen had made him into the greatest soldier on Earth.
He took a final look at the view and shoved the earbud back in. “We’re falling back.” He bellowed it for Legion’s benefit. “Mount up and back to the main gate.”
* * *
The sun was low in the sky when everyone gathered at the main gate. They had forty-two vehicles. The final headcount was one-hundred-eight soldiers and support staff. Even all gathered together, it looked like a small amount.
“So,” said Kennedy, “how do we get past the truck and out the gate without letting him know what we’re doing?”
“We do not go through the gate,” said Stealth.
Freedom nodded. “Straight through the fences, just like he did.”
“Correct,” said the cloaked woman. “There is a point twenty-three yards south of the main gate which is almost free of exes. The Cerberus suit can tear through and we shall follow.”
St. George stood on the hood of a Humvee. He’d found Sorensen’s mangled body half an hour ago, and his fists were still clenched. Freedom glanced at him. “Do you think this will work?”
The hero glared at the fence. “Despite appearances, Legion isn’t what you’d really consider supervillain material. I’d say there’s a pretty solid chance. We’d better do this quick, though.” He nodded at the gate. “I think he’s getting suspicious.”
The dead gathered at the gate clacked their teeth less and less. They were moving their heads in sync. Their eyes moved over the circle of trucks and Humvees, then to the heroes gathered with Captain Freedom. A double-handful of heads tilted quizzically at the group.
“Time to move out,” said Freedom.
Zzzap flitted over to the battlesuit. It was smashing exes as they made their way around the capsized truck. Okay, kid, he said. No pressure, but it’s all up to you.
The battlesuit nodded. “What do you need me to do?”
Zzzap pointed to the key spot. Go that way, he said. Very fast. If something gets in your way, plow it into the ground.
“That’s it?”
That’s it. Once you’re through the fence, stomp a few exes and keep an eye out for Danielle. She’s in one of the trucks waiting for you.
The suit threw back its shoulders. Barry could’ve sworn it took a deep breath. “Okay,” it said. “Just say when.”
When, said the gleaming wraith.
The huge lenses looked at him for a moment and then the suit was running.
“Go,” shouted St. George. He leaped into the air next to Zzzap. The two of them darted over the triple fence.
“Seven to all units,” Kennedy shouted into her microphone, “move out. Repeat, move out.”
The titan kicked up a cloud of dust as it thundered across the packed-down dirt of the base. The first fence snapped apart like tissue paper. It grabbed the second one in its armored fingers and tore the chainlink apart like wet paper. The full weight of the battlesuit hit the third fence and it burst open with the twangs and chimes of breaking wire. The titan fell through and hit the ground.
The convoy rumbled to life. The circle uncoiled like a whip and one long line of Humvees and trucks headed for the opening in the gate.
The exes at the gate saw the trucks move and howled in unison. They ran for the breach in a stiff-legged lock step.
The Cerberus suit stood up and grabbed one of the tall fence poles. It tore the shaft free and swung it like a bat. The pole swept across a forty foot arc and devastated the first wave of exes. Then the titan swung it again and knocked down another swath of dead people.
The first vehicles were off the base and roaring into the desert. One truck peeled off and roared up next to the titan. St. George landed next to it. “Here,” shouted Danielle from the back.
The battlesuit hurled the pipe lengthwise at the horde and sent twenty-odd exes crashing to the ground. It took a few steps back to the truck and started to climb in the back. St. George grabbed it by the hips and heaved. The titan crashed into the truck’s bed and the vehicle shook. Danielle banged on the cab and the driver floored it.
“NO,” roared Legion.
More than half the trucks were through. Some of the exes furthest out from the base tried to intercept the convoy, but they were either run down or gunned down by Freedom and the rest of the Unbreakables. A few closed from the south but the guns on the Guardians and Humvees kept them at bay.
Zzzap dipped low and burned a path through the last of the gate exes. They scattered and their teeth chattered at him. The pale wraith soared into the twilight sky.
St. George landed on one of the last Humvees next to Stealth. One of her Glocks put a round between the eyes of a dead woman that came running at the vehicle. She spun the other one in her hand and whipped it across the jaw of a dead soldier crawling up the back of the vehicle.
Another ex threw itself against the side of their Humvee. It was a dead man wearing a ragged, bloodstained Army uniform. A large chunk of flesh had been torn from its throat. Its scalp was peeled away down to the jaw line on the left side of its face. St. George could just make out the name ADAMS on the front of its jacket.
“You can’t get away from me,” it growled. The words echoed. All the exes the Humvee roared past were speaking in time with it. “This is my world now, Dragon man. I’m everywhere. There’s no escape.”
St. George grabbed the dead man by the jacket and lifted him up so they were eye to eye. “I guess we’ll just have to see about that.”
He let the ex drop and it fell beneath the Humvee’s wheels. The convoy rolled on, heading west toward California.
Chapter 32 - Meeting Your Heroes
THEN
“Wake up, people,” Johnson shouted over the headset. “We’re twenty minutes outside of Los Angeles. Let’s be ready and be focused.”
I was sharing the dark crew compartment of a Black Hawk with First Sergeant Kennedy, Platoon Sergeant Johnson, and the men of Unbreakable Twenty-one. The rotors drowned out any sound that didn’t come over the comm sets. The helicopter had a hot smell to it. Part of it was the engine, part of it was flying over the desert. Even at night, the desert was hot in the summer.
I wasn’t fond of the heat. In my second command position, I’d been in the field for nineteen days when an insurgent fired an anti-tank round into our Humvee. Somehow I was thrown clear with minor injuries. Three other soldiers survived, two men and a woman. I dragged each of them from the wreck. Each of them had third degree burns on at least forty percent of their bodies. I remember the smell, which was too much like the scent of fatty ribs grilling in the summer. Someone told me later it was probably Sergeant North. One of her breasts was burned off in the fire.
I needed skin grafts on both hands. The doctors told me it was a miracle I hadn’t suffered nerve damage. There was a mino
r investigation to make sure I wasn’t incompetent or trying for a 4-F. Then I was given another Purple Heart, a Silver Star, and promoted to first lieutenant.
More dead soldiers on my hands. Yet another time I was “one of the only survivors.”
The Unbreakables checked weapons and adjusted gear. A few of them had their eyes closed and took slow breaths. “Man,” said Truman. “I always wanted to see Hollywood. Never thought it’d be like this.”
“Stay sharp, people,” I said. “Remember, best estimates say there could be five million ex-humans in the city. We don’t know how well these people have secured their borders. We don’t even know if they have a solid perimeter. Do not let your guard down. First thing on our task list is protecting Agent Smith. Protecting each other is second. Contact with survivors is third. Clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” they chorused.
I still wasn’t sure why Colonel Shelly had insisted Smith come along, but what’s done was done. I didn’t like putting a civilian advisor above the safety of my soldiers. He was in the other Black Hawk with Unbreakable Eleven.
“You heard the captain,” said Johnson. “You see anything, you hear anything, don’t hesitate. Clear?”
They shouted confirmation again.
“No surprises, no screw ups,” he said. “We’re on the ground in sixteen.”
Taylor threaded ammo into his Bravo and looked up. “Hey, you know what they got out here? Fucking celebrity exes. Did anyone think about that?” He hooked the box in place and hefted the massive rifle. “We might get to shoot someone famous.”
Laughter echoed through the helicopter. Normally I don’t condone profanity. First Sergeant Paine hadn’t, either. There was a wonderful statement in the first few pages of Vonnegut’s Hocus Pocus, which I read as a very young man. Simply put, profanity just gives people a reason to ignore you.