by Peter Clines
The doctor shrugged. “I didn’t stop it from happening to him, if you care to make the distinction.”
“Don’t matter to me,” said the ex. The dead man’s eyes blinked as they tried to focus. “What the hell happened to your head, dragon man? You look like a sick altar boy or something.”
“So how did you survive? Where are you hiding?”
The dead thing grinned. “That’s the cool thing. I’m everywhere and nowhere. I been like this since that bitch tore my head off. Hell, if I’d known that redhead was you, I’d’ve ripped your head off yesterday.”
“What?”
Peasy grinned. “Got her,” he said. “And believe me, I been thinking for months now about—”
* * *
“—all the things I’m going to do to you. I don’t even know where to start.”
Danielle batted at the desiccated arm. “Fucking murderer,” she snarled. “I’d do it again. Give me half a chance and I’ll tear you to pieces.”
The dead soldier leered down at her through dusty eyes. On some level she knew how vulnerable she was. All flesh in a room full of exes. He could do anything to her. Anything at all.
But all she could think of was Gorgon. About his twisted body as a monstrous giant dropped it like a used napkin. About finding it half-eaten the next morning and crushing the oversized skull of the thing that killed him.
She reached up and smacked the dead man across the jaw. It laughed at her and bent her back further over the table. She swung again and it grabbed her wrist.
“Know what I’m going to do, puta ?” It shook her arm. “I’m gonna let them eat your hands.”
A few of the exes in the circle trembled. They lowered their guns and their teeth clicked a few times. They turned to look at her.
“Gonna let them bite your fingers off one at a time. You ever see a zombie when they get someone fresh? If you’re bleeding they’ll sit there and suck on it. It’s liquid meat to them.”
All the teeth chattered. Two dozen exes. None of them moved, but they all stared at her.
“And if you start to get weak,” said Peasy, “we’ll just burn you. Stop the bleeding that way. Then maybe I’ll let them eat your toes. You like that, bitch? Bet you’re one of those toe-sucker freaks.”
She twisted her arm free and screamed at him. Her hands flailed back on the table looking for a screwdriver or a prybar. There was nothing. She tried to keep things clean and tidy.
“And when I’m bored with watching you cry,” he said, “I’ll just divide and conquer. Pull off your legs, your arms, and—”
* * *
“—then her head. Maybe I’ll save her skull, put it up on a mantle or some shit.”
“You’re with Danielle now,” said St. George.
“Oh yeah. These idiots put me on guard duty around her armor. You guys pissed off the Army something harsh.”
“If you hurt her,” said the hero, “I’ll crush your skull.”
It grinned at him. “I got a hundred thousand skulls, hero. And a billion more waiting for me to move in.”
“There’s nowhere you’ll be safe.”
“Well, good for me I’ve been nowhere for months now,” cackled the ex. “I’m the new zombie virus, dragon man. Now, you got any last words before…BITCH!”
* * *
“You got any last words before—”
Her fingers closed on the laptop and she swung it over her head. The cables caught, just for a second, but then the USB connectors popped free and she brought the metal and plastic case down on the dead man’s skull. The corner gouged open the flesh from the middle of his forehead across his brow ridge and forced his eye shut.
“BITCH!”
She didn’t wait to see how much damage she’d done. She let the computer drop, dove under his arms, and skittered away across the floor.
He growled and all the teeth in the room stopped chattering. The exes turned as one and tracked her movement across the floor. Their arms raised in perfect sync and pointed at her. Peasy turned and snarled. His face was covered with dark, clumpy blood. He took a step, and the exes stepped forward with him.
Danielle had the M16.
She rolled over and fired. He wasn’t even six feet away, bending down to grab her. The first two rounds caught him in the chest. The third in the Adam’s apple. The last one punched through his nose and out the back of his skull. His face sagged and the ex collapsed in a pile.
“Don’t work like that anymore,” said another one of the exes. This one was a woman. Its hair was shaved short and there was a ragged bite mark on its left forearm. It sneered at her from the circle of dead soldiers. “Don’t you get it, big girl? I’m the big one now. Way too big for you to kill.”
She fired again. The first shot was wild, and she forced herself to take a breath and aim down the rifle’s simple sights. The second round punched the talking ex in the shoulder. The third blew out its left eye and part of its cheek. It dropped to the ground.
“I’m not just one guy anymore,” said another ex. A thin black man with a skull tattoo on his bare arms. “I’m all the zombies in the world.”
She fired again and a black crease pulled open along the side of the ex’s skull, just above the Nest. There was a clang, she adjusted, and realized the rifle hadn’t chambered a new round. It was empty.
“Eight shots,” he said. “They don’t trust the exes with more’n that.”
Danielle grabbed the hot barrel like a baseball bat and leaped up at the ex. She swung, connected, and got a grand slam. The ex fell to the ground, its skull caved in.
“You know what, though?” said another ex. “‘Peasy’ don’t do it for me anymore. I need something—”
* * *
“—bigger. A good name for death incarnate.”
“You talking to me now?” asked St. George.
“A little out of practice,” said the dead man on the stretcher. “But it’s like riding a bike, y’know?”
“Good to know you’re still having trouble focusing,” said St. George. “It’s always nice when you can beat the bad guy the same way twice in a row.”
“You a church man, Dragon? My mama was, bless her soul. Made me go to church, do confession, all that. Didn’t see the point, but I did it to make her happy.”
“Yeah, you’re a model citizen.”
“You remember the story of Jesus and the pigs? That’s how I always remembered it. There’s a guy who’s all possessed and shit, and Jesus took the demons out and they filled up a whole herd of pigs. Hundreds of them. Remember that one?”
“Yeah,” said St. George. “The story of Legion.”
“Legion.” The ex smiled and its legs twitched beneath the gurney’s straps. Left, right, left. It took the hero a moment before he realized the exes were—
* * *
—walking towards her. They marched in lock step like soldiers. Like Nazis in old newsreels, with their rifles across their bodies.
Danielle ran towards the door. She couldn’t remember if it locked on this side or not. If it didn’t open they were going to reach her before she could remember the code.
She reached for the handle and the door opened. Sunlight poured in for an instant. A figure blocked the sun, a dark shadow her eyes couldn’t make out.
“On your knees,” shouted the figure. “On your knees, put your hands on your head.”
Another soldier moved in behind the first, and a third.
“Shoot them,” Danielle shouted. “He’s controlling all of them. You’ve got to—”
They slammed her to her knees and yanked her hands up. Way too strong for her to resist. She glanced back in a panic.
The exes stood like statues. Their weapons were up, just as they were when she’d entered. They were back in a circle. Back on guard duty as if nothing had happened. A few gaps stood out in the formation where she’d put down the talkers.
The light from the door vanished as Freedom stepped into the workshop. “Sweep the place
,” he said. “Top to bottom. Make sure he isn’t here, too.”
Two of the soldiers moved off into the workshop, looking up into the rafters and under the tables. They passed the circle and the zombies took a clumsy step forward. One of the soldiers raised a fist and pointed.
“Stand down, soldiers,” barked Freedom.
The exes lowered their weapons to their sides. Some dropped their rifles altogether. They swayed for a moment and grew still again.
“Listen to me,” said Danielle. “The exes are being controlled by someone else. The superhuman we told you about, Peasy, he’s—”
“Doctor Morris, I’m taking you into custody for possible involvement in the assault on Colonel Russell Shelly,” said Freedom. “The MPs will be here shortly to place you under arrest and read your rights as they stand under the military code of conduct.”
“Shelly was attacked?” said Danielle. “How? Is he okay?”
“Colonel Shelly was beaten by your associate, Stealth, almost two hours ago in an attempt to force the release of you and the Cerberus battlesuit.”
She shook her head. “No way.”
“We have a witness who found her standing over him.”
One of the super-soldiers walked over and examined the bodies on the floor. “Damn it,” said Kennedy. “She took out three of them. Sorensen’s going to be pissed.”
“Screw him,” said Truman. “I just don’t want to go catch more for him.”
“Look, that’s not the real problem,” said the redhead. “I’m telling you, those things are not under your control.”
“Building is clear, sir,” called one of the soldiers. He walked back across the workshop and cut through the circle of exes. He gave one a casual whap on the back of the head, and it swayed back and forth for a moment.
“Does it look like she was able to sabotage the suit?”
Truman picked the laptop up off the floor and studied it. “Nothing visible, sir. Looks clean. Probably want to check the software before they test it, though.”
“I know how this works,” Danielle said. “You’ve got to have some sort of protocol in case the Nests fail. Just put it into effect so you’ll be ready.”
“The ex-soldiers have been operational without a single failure for six months now,” said Kennedy. “What makes you think they’re all going to stop working now?”
“I didn’t say they’re going to stop working,” snapped Danielle. “I’m trying to tell you they’ve never worked. They’re not working now. There’s been someone else controlling them all this time.”
“That’s your answer to all this?” said Freedom. “There’s been a supervillain here at Krypton all this time and no one’s noticed?”
She looked back as they dragged her outside. One of the exes winked at her.
* * *
“Ahhh,” said the ex. “Too bad.”
St. George punched through the zombie’s head and the gurney beneath it, twisting steel tubes out of the way. Dark blood and brains poured out of the ruined skull through the hole and splattered on the ground.”
“Fugg yuu, yuu dumm fugg raggen maahh,” another ex growled around its bit.
The hero snapped the leather band and yanked the dowel out, taking a few teeth with it. “Hope that stung,” he said. “What’d you do to her?”
“Nothing,” spat the ex. “She got nabbed by the man. Stealth beat up the colonel, huh?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sounds like someone can’t keep his bitches in line,” laughed the dead man.
St. George turned to Sorensen. “Are you going to help me? I need to know whose side you’re on.”
The older man nodded. “I’ll help,” he sighed.
“Doc,” said the ex, “you know the deal. You help them, I don’t tell you where your kid is.”
Sorensen looked at the dead man. “You’ve never looked for her.” He hooked his glasses back over his ears. “Just like Shelly. None of you even looked. You all just think I’m mad.”
St. George brought his fist down and shattered the ex’s skull. A few steps took him to the next gurney and he moved down the line. When he’d killed the other three exes he grabbed a bright blue towel and wiped the gore from his knuckles. “Are there any more of them in here?”
The doctor shook his head. “Those were the only exes in this section of the base, as far as I know.”
“Yeah,” said St. George, “that’s the bit that worries me. How far is it to where you’re keeping Zzzap?”
Chapter 24
NOW
The ex pushed open the workshop door and looked outside. There were a few soldiers off in the distance, but none close enough to recognize it for what it was. He’d chosen the body because it was less decayed than most of the ex-soldiers, and it had the most complete uniform.
It looked back over its shoulder and had the dead soldiers around the armor adjust their feet. After a bit of shuffling, it was hard to tell one of them had walked away. By the time anyone noticed, it’d be too late.
The ex tugged his headgear down to shade his eyes, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, and tried to whistle as he crossed the road. It took too much effort, so he gave up after a few steps. A soldier at the end of the block turned his way, and he pulled out a hand and gave a quick, casual salute. The soldier gave an acknowledging salute and turned back to his duties.
Just like that, he was across the street. A zombie walking around in broad daylight. He stepped into the shrinking shade of the Tomb.
The main door was still crimped where Cerberus had forced it open the other day, but they’d beaten it back into shape enough for it to lock shut. They were idiots. Locking the door so he couldn’t get out, but they’d typed in the codes right in front of him dozens of times. He knew half the codes and passwords for the whole base.
Stiff fingers tapped the keys. He opened the access door. Inside, he saw himself through one hundred and fifty sets of eyes. A company’s worth of dead soldiers grinned back at him.
He’d wanted to wait a little longer. Shelly and Sorensen had planned to process another three hundred ex-soldiers in the next few months, but who knew if that would happen now. His hopes of getting a few of the super-soldiers infected were fading fast. The damned heroes were messing things up again.
He held out his hand and one of the exes gave him the wadded up paper he’d hidden in its pocket. He crammed it into the door frame so the lock couldn’t engage. They tried the door from both sides, and then he walked down the street to set more of himself free.
* * *
The red light flashed and the door cycled. Doctor Sorensen entered the reactor observation room.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said one of the soldiers. He was a twenty-something man with the name KING sewn on his jacket. Not one of the super-soldiers. “We weren’t expecting you until later today.”
The doctor cleared his throat and brushed at his shirt front. “I decided to shift my schedule around, Sergeant King.”
“Specialist, sir.”
“Yes, of course.” The doctor shuffled into the room and picked up one of the clipboards. “Any problems?”
“Negative, sir,” said the other man. There was a touch of silver at his temples and HARDY over his heart. “Been pretty quiet for the most part. The prisoner got a little agitated a few times, but no problems.”
“He’s not a prisoner,” said Sorensen. “He’s a guest.”
“Of course. Sorry, sir.”
“Agitated how?”
Hardy got up to stand next to Sorensen and they stared at Zzzap through the window. “The guest has been in his energy form the whole time,” said the soldier. “He examined most of the cell. Threw a few more of those lightning bolts. One of them burned out the southern camera and microphone. We offered him lunch about an hour ago but he refused.”
“Said he didn’t like the taste of our sedatives,” added King.
“Has he…” Sorensen paused to tap his fingers agains
t his thumb. “Did he eat anything yesterday?”
“No, sir,” said Hardy. “He also…”
Sorensen flipped the page on the clipboard. “Yes?”
The two soldiers exchanged quick looks. “He’s talking to himself, sir,” said King.
“What do you mean?”
Hardy looked at the glowing wraith through the window. “If we stayed at our stations for a while, sir, two or three hours, I think he’d forget we were in here. And he’d start talking.”
“Talking about what?
The soldier shrugged. “About the fact he’s stuck in the cell. Things he should’ve done. Things he could try.”
“One bit about not being able to touch anything,” added King. “It’s all on the tapes.”
“So he’s thinking out loud,” said the doctor. “Not so unusual, is it?”
“It isn’t like that, sir,” said Hardy. “His phrasing and tone are very distinct. It’s like we’re hearing half a conversation he’s having with someone else.”
“Are you sure he isn’t transmitting to someone?”
“We’ve left the microphone off in here as ordered, sir. He’s had no contact with us, and the Faraday cage is blocking all signals in or out. We’ve even done a few radio checks to be sure.”
King turned his head to gesture at the gauges and the door burst off its hinges. Sorensen stumbled away and covered his ears as it clanged on the floor. Hardy and King drew their sidearms.
“Sorry, doctor,” said St. George. He tossed a piece of smoking circuitry the size of a cereal box on the floor. “You’re taking too long and we don’t have the time.”
“Sir,” shouted King. “Get on your knees and place your hands behind your head.”
“If you start shooting,” the hero said, “odds are someone’s going to get hurt by a ricochet. And it won’t be me. So just put your weapons down.” A few streamers of smoke trailed from his nostrils for emphasis.
The soldiers didn’t budge.
“Fine,” said St. George. “Doctor, get behind me.”