Ex-Patriots e-2

by Peter Clines

  “On what grounds?”

  “Hijacking,” said Gibbs. The titan turned its head to Cesar. The young man stood up and dusted himself off. “I’m sure Colonel Shelly and Captain Freedom will be interested to know you brought another super-powered person with you.”

  We didn’t bring him with us, said Zzzap, gliding forward.

  “Keep your distance, sir,” said the battlesuit. “This weaponry might not be able to hurt you, but I’m sure you don’t want any harm to come to your friends.”

  “Gibbs, come on,” snapped the redhead. “You must have seen the exes overrunning the base. You need to be dealing with that problem right now, not us.”

  “Ummmm,” said Cesar, “you all hear that?”

  The growl of an approaching engine came from behind the battlesuit. About half a mile down, a Humvee swung out onto Dirt Road. It took the corner so sharp the wide-bodied vehicle almost lifted onto two wheels. It roared along the fence line at close to seventy miles an hour.

  In seconds it was close enough for them to see the face behind the wheel. It was a buzz-cut woman with leathery skin. There was a gash along her forehead down to the Nest unit blinking on her temple. Legion grinned at them from behind her chalky eyes.

  It took Danielle another few seconds to put it together, and Cesar dragged her out of the way, back against the lab buildings.

  Zzzap summoned his strength, focused, and fired a blast that just missed the speeding vehicle. He was close enough to ignite the gas tank and melt one of the rear tires, but the Humvee kept moving. The tire made it veer off to the side, and the hood ended up aimed right at the battlesuit.

  If Danielle had been in the armor, it would’ve been no contest. She knew the suit and what it could do. She’d thrown cars, punched through engine blocks, and pulled apart buildings. She could’ve side-stepped and grabbed the Humvee as it sped by and either hurled it into the air or torn it apart.

  Lieutenant Gibbs knew a simulator. He wasn’t used to the armor’s smooth responses. He’d already forgotten there was over a thousand pounds of battlesuit protecting him from the outside world. He acted out of instinct. A big vehicle was rushing at him. He tried to leap out of the way.

  The burning transport hit the Cerberus battlesuit in the hip. The titan spun, crashed into the building a few feet from Danielle and Cesar, and collapsed in the dirt. Part of the wall crumbled, and a chunk of concrete and plaster hit the ground inches from Danielle’s sneaker.

  The Humvee veered off to the right, carried by its own momentum. Legion spun the wheel and kept the pedal pressed to the floor. They heard him laugh as he rushed by.

  The front corner of the vehicle hit the fence and ripped through the first layer of chainlink without slowing down. It crushed a pair of ex-soldiers wandering between the barricades and broke through the second fence. A section of chainlink twenty feet long tore loose, crumpled, and fell. One of the Humvee’s tires ripped open on the stiff wires and exploded, but the vehicle lurched on and struck one of the outer poles by the watch tower. The engine roared, the tires spun in the dirt, and with its dying breath the flaming vehicle pushed the pole over.

  The fence sagged on either side and knocked down the exes pressed against it. It sprang back up for a moment, then dropped to the ground with a crash of metal. Close to thirty exes were pinned under it when it fell. Twice as many moved for the opening.

  Fucking son of a bitch, said Zzzap.

  * * *

  Truman stumbled out of the crater in the wall, tripped over one of the dead soldiers, and crashed to the floor. By the time he hit the tiles, St. George had put down Franklin with a strike to the forehead. The hero glared at Captain Freedom across the lobby. “Did you actually think you could take me in a fist fight? Even all together?”

  Kennedy tried to hit him with her rifle stock. He took the weapon away from her and broke it in half. The ammo box fell open and the belt spooled out across the floor. She drove three punches into his jaw and felt her knuckles crack on the last one.

  “I mean, do you guys have any clue how far out of my league you are?” He caught Jefferson’s punch against his palm and gave the knuckles a sharp twist. They all heard the bones splinter and snap along the arm. The soldier screamed and dropped back even as the hero batted away a kick from Kennedy. “A group of first graders would have a better chance of taking out Mike Tyson. If I didn’t need you to monologue about where Stealth—”

  Freedom’s double-handed blow caught St. George across the cheek. He closed in, slammed some fast punches into the hero’s stomach, and then swung his elbow up to catch him in the chin. St George staggered back into the wall. The captain moved forward and swung a backhand that sounded like a gunshot when it connected. He brought the hand back around in a punch that could dent steel.

  St. George grabbed the larger man’s wrist. The punch stopped dead in the air.

  “Okay,” said the hero, ribbons of smoke streaming from his nostrils. “That’s enough.” He straightened up off the wall, still holding the wrist.

  Freedom stumbled back. He tried to twist his arm around, a simple break to free his hand and get control back, but the hero’s fingers were like stone. The captain twisted his free arm around and threw his weight into an elbow that connected with the middle of St. George’s forearm.

  The arm was like stone, too.

  Jefferson drew his SOCOM pistol left-handed and emptied the magazine at St. George. The rounds thudded and spun off his side and shoulders. The last three slapped his temple. The bullets clattered on the tile floor.

  Stone.

  Kennedy leaped onto his back. She got a chokehold across his neck and threw her weight onto her arm. He reached up with his free hand and swung her over onto Truman’s unconscious form.

  Freedom battered at the stone arm and threw a kick into the hero’s stomach. It was like hitting a wall, and he knocked himself off balance. He would’ve fallen over if not for the iron grip on his wrist. He flailed at St. George’s chest for a moment and righted himself.

  “I’m used to having to pull my punches with people,” said St, George, “so you got in a couple good shots back at the Mount. But don’t confuse catching me off guard once with being stronger than me.” He moved Freedom’s arm back and forth, and the huge officer was dragged back and forth after it.

  “I’d never say I’m stronger,” said Freedom. “Just smarter.”

  He made a fist around the demon fang he’d torn off St. George’s lapel and slammed it into the hero’s arm just behind the wrist.

  * * *

  The Humvee had left an opening in the fence line almost forty feet wide. The stumbling dead worked their way over the fallen chainlink and onto the base, their teeth chattering.

  “Bro,” said Cesar. He rapped his knuckles on the steel forehead of the fallen battlesuit. “You still alive in there?”

  The armor shifted and a metallic groan hissed through the speakers.

  “Cool. No broken bones or nothing?”

  “I…I’m good,” said Gibbs. “What the hell was that?”

  “Dead girl driving a Hummer,” Cesar told him. “Look, you sure you’re okay?”

  “A little dizzy.”

  Danielle crouched by the helmet and looked for damage. “Is the suit okay? No problems with monitors or the reactive sensors?”

  The battlesuit flailed for a moment as the arms pushed it up to a sitting position. “Power’s down to sixty-eight percent, but as far as I can tell past that, all systems read one hundred percent across the board.”

  “Good,” said the redhead. She sighed. “I’m sorry about this, but I think your loyalties are a little too split for you to be of much use right now.”

  Cesar’s face broke into a grin.

  She glared at him. “One scratch, one circuit I need to replace, and I own you for life. Clear?”

  He wrapped his arms around the armor. The air crackled as he vanished, and a few arcs of electricity danced across the helmet and chestplate. “Crystal,
ma’am,” said his voice from the speakers. “Cerberus, reporting for duty.”

  “Let’s get one thing clear right now,” she said as the armor clomped back to its feet. “You’re a kid with a neat power. I’m Cerberus.”

  * * *

  The fang ripped through St. George’s jacket and flesh. Its tip burst through the other side of his arm. Blood splashed out over the sleeve. The hero roared and it came out as a blast of fire that blinded everyone in the lobby. He let go of Freedom’s arm and the officer twisted away from the flames.

  Freedom looked back and St. George grabbed him by the throat. The fang was still buried in the hero’s forearm. It was bleeding, but not enough to be fatal. Just painful as all hell. The arm stretched up and Freedom’s feet left the floor.

  “We’re not going to surrender,” grunted Freedom.

  “I’m not asking you to,” said St. George though gritted teeth. “Say you won if you want. I just don’t want to waste any more time fighting. My friends and I want to help.”

  “One of your friends beat Colonel Shelly to within an inch of his life.”

  “I don’t know what that’s all about,” said the hero, “but it’s not the issue. There’s a threat to this base we need to deal with. All of us. No one heads off in any helicopters or anything. You’ve got the manpower but we’ve got the experience with this guy. Once that’s done, you and me and all our friends can sit down and figure out who did what to who.”

  Freedom glared at him. Out of the corner of his eye, St. George could see Kennedy struggling to her feet and Jefferson trying to reload his pistol one handed. Franklin and Truman began to stir.

  So were the dead soldiers, he realized.

  Noise burst from their earpieces and the hero saw their faces shift. It woke up Franklin and Truman, and they shot glances between Kennedy and Freedom. The captain’s jaw was still set, but St. George could see the conflict in his eyes.

  “What’s going on?”

  The soldiers looked to Freedom. “The main gate just fell,” he said. “Someone drove a Guardian through it. They’re getting in.”

  St. George nodded at the waking exes and the bloody lobby. “What’s it going to be, captain? Help us save everybody, or do you want to keep trying to put handcuffs on me?”

  Freedom’s shoulders relaxed. Just a little. “What’s your plan?”

  St. George let his arm drop and opened the fingers around the officer’s throat. He tried not to wince as the muscles around the fang shifted.

  “Peasy—Legion, whatever he’s calling himself now—he attacks on multiple sides. When he tried to take the Mount, that’s how he did it. I’ll bet he’s going to do the same thing here if he hasn’t already.”

  Freedom and the other soldiers nodded. “Ask and you shall receive,” said Kennedy, pressing a finger to her ear, “the same thing happened at Tower Nine. The whole fence line is gone between Nine and Eight.” She glanced at St. George. “Sounds like your people are already there. Zzzap and the robot.”

  “Exes?” asked Freedom.

  “About a hundred with as many closing in.”

  St. George pursed his lips. “Anyone got a radio?”

  The teeth of one of the corpses clicked together and Truman’s boot lashed out to shatter its skull. The specialist pulled the radio from the headless body’s belt and stripped off the headset and mic. He tossed it to St. George. Catching it made the pain in his forearm flare again.

  “Zzzap, you out there?”

  “Hey, fearless leader,” said the radio. “We’re in hell. How are things with you?”

  “He sounds normal,” said Kennedy. “Is that him?”

  “It’s because you’re not hearing him, you’re hearing him broadcast his voice.” He held up the radio. “What’s going on?”

  “Our boy Peasy brought down the fence at the north-west corner of the base. We’ve got a gap about thirty-five, forty feet across.”

  “So I’ve heard,” said St. George. “Under control?”

  “The soldiers and Cerberus—sorry, the Driver—are keeping them at bay so far.”

  “Copy. Is Danielle with you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. I’m going to see if we can get some people there to assist. If you think you can spare a minute, meet me here.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The hero shoved the radio into the pocket of his flight jacket. Jefferson tilted his head up from the crude splint Franklin was building around his arm. “How’s he know where you are?”

  “Because he could see where the signal was coming from,” said St. George. He looked at Freedom. “Where’s Stealth being held?”

  “She’s probably still in the brig. Last I heard Smith had all of squad Twenty-one guarding her.”

  “We need her.”

  Freedom’s jaw locked up again. “She attacked Colonel Shelly.”

  “Later, captain. Right now she’s the smartest, best fighter within about a hundred miles and she needs to be helping us.”

  They could hear Freedom grinding his teeth but he reached for his radio. “Unbreakable Twenty-one, this is Unbreakable Six.”

  “Unbreakable Six, this is Unbreakable Twenty-one.”

  “Twenty-one, this is Six. You are to release the prisoner named Stealth. Escort her to the main gate. We’ll meet you there. Be advised this is a combat situation and you are entering a hot zone.”

  * * *

  Staff Sergeant Harrison furrowed his brow and shot a look to Taylor and Polk. “Six, this is Twenty-one,” he said. “Could you repeat, please?”

  “Twenty-one, this is Six,” said Freedom’s voice. “Release the prisoner and escort her to the main gate immediately. Be advised this is a combat situation and you are entering a hot zone.”

  “Six, this is Twenty-one,” said Harrison. “Sir, Mister Smith was very precise with his orders on the prisoner. He believes she’ll be good leverage against the —”

  “Twenty-one, this is Six,” barked Freedom. “You are not taking orders from Mister Smith, you are taking them from me. Is that clear?”

  The super-soldiers shot a few confused looks back and forth. They looked at the cell Stealth was in. Then they looked at the man in the good suit sitting on the desk across from them.

  Smith opened his eyes wide, as if something had just occurred to him. “They couldn’t be forcing him to say all that, could they?”

  Their eyes opened wide, too. “St. George,” said Polk, “the Mighty Dragon, he’s probably strong enough to force the captain into something.”

  “That fucker,” said Taylor. He wiped another thread of blood from his nose. It was still going from when the bitch kneed him in the face.

  “But…” Harrison blinked and shook his head. What Smith said made perfect sense, but there was something wrong with it. Something nagging at the back of his mind. “Compromise words,” he said. “Why isn’t the captain using the compromise codes?”

  Taylor frowned. “What’s today’s word?”

  “Chocolate, I think,” said Polk.

  “Six, this is Twenty-one,” Harrison said. “Things that bad, sir? You said this mission was going to be all cake and ice cream, remember?”

  “Twenty-one, this is Six. Understood and negative. Release the prisoner and get your legs in gear.”

  Smith shook his head. “Could they have learned the codes somehow? Or maybe they’ve got some of his people at gunpoint. He’d lie to keep them safe, wouldn’t he?”

  “Fuck, yeah he would,” said Taylor.

  Harrison stared into space and tried to work his brain around something. His own nose was bleeding, and he couldn’t remember if Stealth’s vicious attack had caused it or not.

  Smith looked at him. “Staff Sergeant Harrison?”

  He blinked twice. “Yes, sir?”

  “I think we need to get the prisoner to the helipad and prepare to leave, don’t you?”

  “Of course, sir,” said Harrison.

  Smith shook his head as they moved to Steal
th’s cell. “She was telling the truth about the zombie supervillain. I did not see that coming.”

  * * *

  “They’ve gone silent,” said Kennedy.

  Freedom’s brow wrinkled.

  “We’ll deal with it,” said St. George. He gritted his teeth and pulled out the fang. It was red and slick. More blood splattered out onto the floor. He dropped the fang in his pocket and squeezed his palm over the wound. “I think everyone in this building is dead. Maybe the next building over, too. How much does that hurt you, number-wise?”

  Freedom glanced at Kennedy. “If they’re all dead,” she said, “it’s almost a quarter of our troops gone.”

  “Can you still mount a defense? You must’ve planned for something like this, right?”

  Freedom gave a sharp nod. “It’ll be difficult, but not impossible. First Sergeant,” he said to Kennedy, “operation Red Sand is in effect.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make sure your people understand they’re not fighting regular exes,” said St. George. “They’re fighting Legion. He’ll make plans of his own and react to what your people do. Or what they don’t do.”

  Kennedy nodded and began to bark commands into her microphone.

  Freedom looked at the hero and gave a quick nod to Franklin. “What else can you tell us about this Legion?”

  “We beat him before by splitting his attention. He wasn’t experienced with his powers, so fighting on multiple fronts made him lose control and then we just focused on the man himself. It looks like his control may have gotten better, though.”

  “Great,” muttered Franklin. He pushed up St. George’s sleeve.

  “Stow it, sergeant.”

  “Yes sir.” He pulled some disinfectant from a pouch and wiped the blood away from the wound. It was a ragged hole the size of a dime. “Shouldn’t’ve pulled that tooth out,” he muttered.

  “The big problem, though,” said St. George, “is the ex-soldiers. Since he’s controlling them, he’s effectively got a thousand people on the base already. Double agents, guerillas, saboteurs, whatever you want to call them. He’s got a lot of them, but I bet they’re all going for simple goals. Even if he’s gotten better, he probably won’t risk splitting himself onto too many complex fronts.”