An Ex-Heroes Collection

by Peter Clines

  St. George rolled onto his back just as Cerberus brought a foot up to crush him. The hero drove his heel into the battlesuit’s other ankle. He felt it dent under the blow, but it didn’t break. It was enough that the foot came down to regain balance rather than do damage. The titan wobbled for a moment as it compensated for the damage.

  “We never trusted you,” roared Gibbs over the speakers. “Any of you!”

  A fireworks display of small-arms fire sparked and pinged off the armor. The scavengers emptied their weapons at the battlesuit. Some of the rounds ricocheted down to slap St. George in the thighs and chest. After the M2s, they felt like bug bites.

  It didn’t hurt the titan, either, but it distracted Gibbs for a moment. “Traitors,” he bellowed at them. The battlesuit pulled its foot back and kicked St. George in the ribs, hurling him at the scavengers.

  His ribs tore at his insides, but he managed to twist in the air and miss Billie and one of the others. His hand smacked against Ilya’s arm and he was pretty sure he felt one of the other man’s bones crack. He hit another building—he wasn’t sure which one—shoulder first and left a crater in the wall.

  St. George took a breath and his ribs howled. He forced another breath and pushed himself out of the wall. Grit and rubble dropped off him.

  Billie and the others were reloading on the move. Cerberus stalked after them. She was shouting something at the battlesuit, but it sounded muffled and echo-y in his ears. He shook his head and the world became a little clearer.

  The hero launched himself at Cerberus again. Gibbs saw him coming, the pincer hand came around again, and St. George landed inside the blow. He blocked it with his own forearm and slammed three punches into the titan’s stomach—an array of overlapping armored plates. He heard the impacts echo inside the battlesuit. One of the plates cracked under his knuckles.

  Gibbs roared again. The titan’s arm pulled in tight and crushed St. George against its chest. One of the small open hatches scraped on his cheek. Cerberus looked up at the sky, then brought its steel head down onto the hero’s skull with a crack. St. George reeled for a moment, spots swirling in his vision, and Gibbs battered him with the stump of the damaged arm.

  St. George stretched his arms out and hammered his fists into the titan’s sides. He did it again and again, at least half a dozen times before the arm pinning him against the battlesuit released him. They stumbled apart, he shook his head clear, and then Cerberus lunged forward again, the pincer fingers stretched out.

  He threw himself into the air and soared above the titan. It reached after him and he grabbed it by the wrist. He dropped back to the ground, pulled, and threw Cerberus over his shoulder. He didn’t let go of the broken hand, and the battlesuit’s own momentum tore it loose at the wrist with a crack of metal and electricity.

  The titan smashed into the corner of a warehouse. Cracks raced up the wall. Large swaths of plaster and concrete broke free and tipped out over the street. A landslide of rubble raced down the side of the building.

  St. George hurled the hand aside and threw himself forward, snatching Billie and a bald man out of the way just before the remains of the warehouse wall smashed into the ground. “Get lost,” he said. “You guys can’t stop it.”

  Billie glared at him. “Can you?”

  He set them down. “Just stay clear and keep everyone else out of the way.” He looked around for Danielle. She’d vanished. He was sure she hadn’t been near the wall when it collapsed. She’d either run for cover or couldn’t stand to watch the suit get ripped apart.

  The rubble shifted around Cerberus. The titan pushed itself to its feet again. It stood with its back to St. George, as if it was gathering strength.

  “Gibbs,” he said, “There’s enough holes in the armor. I know you can hear me. We can still work this out. I know this isn’t your fault. Stop now and shut the suit down.”

  The handless arm swung around and hit him like a wrecking ball.

  St. George hit a wall, scraped across it, and slammed into Four again. Momentum bounced him off the corner and threw him back out into the street. He hit the pavement and tumbled another two yards.

  The street shook under him. He tried to focus, to throw himself into the air, but his head was spinning and the titan’s foot caught him in the side before he was even a few inches off the ground. He crashed into another wall and fell. He heard people shouting, but wasn’t sure if it was inside the building or somewhere in the distance.

  Cerberus stomped over and glared down at him. A Y-shaped crack ran through one of the eye lenses. Servos hummed as the battlesuit raised its foot over St. George’s face and blotted out the sun.

  Then the sun leaned to the left and dropped down to light up the street. The foot started to fall and the brilliant wraith struck like lightning, shooting through the raised leg just below the knee. There was a deafening hiss, Gibbs howled in pain, and the two sounds mixed and echoed across the lot.

  The half-fused foot clanged on the ground next to St. George’s head. Molten metal splashed over it. A few drops hit his arm and burned what was left of his shirt. He swiped them away.

  One of the thick toes twitched a few times and then grew still.

  Cerberus tried to keep its balance on one leg. St. George reached up, grabbed the still-glowing stump in both hands, and shoved. The titan tipped over and hit the pavement.

  Zzzap hung in the air a few yards away, shaking. Gahhhhh, he said. He waved his arms. I hate doing that. I think I’m going to puke.

  “Thanks,” said St. George.

  You’re welcome. Didn’t want to risk hitting you with a blast, and I figured we didn’t want to incinerate whoever’s in there. Gibbs?

  “Yeah.”

  What’s up with him?

  “Smith.”

  Figures. Does Danielle know you had to—

  “Yeah.”

  Zzzap made a static-y noise that might have been a sigh.

  St. George limped over to the fallen titan. It was like a wounded turtle, stuck on its back with no limbs left to push itself over. The stump pounded on the ground. The handless arm swung at him again but couldn’t reach him. Billie, Ilya, and the others approached from the north, reloading as they closed in.

  St. George hooked his fingers under the helmet’s chin. He braced his foot against the armored shoulders and pulled.

  The battlesuit groaned, metal squealed, and Cerberus’s armored skull ripped free of the body. Shrapnel sprayed like blood. A tangle of cables dragged loose from the armored collar. Each one snapped, sparked, and popped apart. The thrashing limbs went limp.

  The large eyes flared for a moment, one after the other, and then died.

  Lieutenant Gibbs’s head looked small on top of the huge torso. He had a bruise over one eye. “God damn you,” he snarled at them. “You’re traitors. No one will ever trust you again. No one!”

  So where’s Danielle and Stealth?

  “Smith’s got Stealth,” said St. George. “I’m not sure where Danielle slipped off to.”

  Zzzap floated a few feet higher in the air. Did Smith get her, too?

  “Not sure. I’m going to head toward Gower. Can you do a perimeter check?”

  On it. The gleaming wraith shot into the air and vanished.

  St. George dropped the armored skull on the ground and hurled himself up over the buildings.

  Christian Smith guided Stealth along Avenue C. They’d run into two or three people, but a few words from the mayor had sent them on their way. They could see the cross street up ahead.

  “Not long now,” said Smith. “I was happy to let you all starve to death peacefully, you know. I really wanted to avoid anything big and showy like this. I’m not big on direct confrontation. Still, I think you’ll protect me from any potential threats, won’t you?”

  Stealth said nothing, but her head jerked up and down once.

  Smith smiled. “And you’d warn me if you knew of any trouble up ahead, right?”

  “Yes.” The
cloaked woman stumbled, just for a moment, as if her foot had caught on something. “There is no trouble up ahead.”

  “Wait, what?” Smith stopped walking. “Why did you … What are you hiding?”

  “Many things,” said Stealth. “Perhaps most important is that someone has been following us for half a block now.”

  Smith spun around and the gunshot echoed on the street. The bullet whizzed past her, close enough that she flinched away.

  Danielle lined up the Glock with both hands and fired again. Her aim wasn’t great, but the round hit Christian Smith in the calf, just under the kneecap. The Asian woman howled and dropped to the ground.

  The redhead walked forward. The pistol stayed on Smith the whole time. “You fucking son of a bitch,” she snarled. “George had to destroy Cerberus because of you.”

  Smith tried to speak, but all she could manage was a few angry whimpers as her hands flailed at her ruined leg.

  Voices were shouting down the street. Danielle recognized Madelyn’s pale figure running toward them. A few guards were behind her, their own weapons up and ready. Captain Freedom loomed behind them, looking groggy but keeping pace.

  Danielle aimed the Glock and fired one more time. This time the round took two fingers off a flailing hand and smashed into the other kneecap. Smith screamed and fell backward. Her hand twitched and splashed blood over her shirt.

  “Hold the barrel of the pistol in your hand,” said Stealth.

  “What?” Danielle glanced at her.

  “Hold the barrel of the pistol in your right hand. It will be warm to the touch from firing, but will not harm you. Raise the pistol to shoulder height and swing so the tip of the magazine connects with the side of the skull. Your target should be the temple just above the cheekbone.”

  Danielle looked down at the thrashing woman. Smith was trying to gasp out words, but couldn’t focus.

  She turned the Glock around in her hand. She swung and cracked it into Smith’s head. The woman went limp and slumped to the ground.

  Danielle let out a long breath.

  “Thank you,” said Stealth.

  “You couldn’t’ve done that yourself?”

  “Semantics.”

  ST. GEORGE FLOATED in the sky above the water tower. It was a windy night, but not horribly so. Enough to make the world feel alive. Los Angeles was lit up below him. Houses, a few small shops, floodlights on the Big Wall and the corners of the Mount.

  It was good to be home.

  Things were chaotic, granted. In thirty-six hours, dozens of rumors had already sprung up about why the new mayor was shot twice and put into a medical coma. A few of them were somewhat close to the truth. For the moment, as runner-up in the election, Richard Lihart was acting as mayor. He made it very clear he’d step down if anyone had serious objections, but for the moment no one had.

  The destruction of Cerberus had caused ripples, too. It had been three years since a hero had fallen. Even if no one had actually died, it was a harsh reminder the world still wasn’t safe. If anything, it was a little less safe with the armored titan gone.

  Gibbs was under observation. He responded well to Freedom and was coming to grips with the suggestions Smith had planted in his brain. He’d lost most of his right foot when Zzzap burned off the battlesuit’s legs. The lieutenant seemed to be taking it as some sort of penance.

  St. George heard a ripple of fabric. He looked down and saw Stealth standing on the tower below him. Her cloak whipped around in the wind. The corners of it snapped and popped like small whips.

  He floated down to her. They hadn’t had any real time together since waking up from Smith’s dreamworld. She reached up and checked the bruise on the side of his face, running a gloved finger along his jawline. “Your injuries are healing rapidly.”

  He nodded. “I should be fine by the end of the week.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  “Is it just me,” he said, “or do I get the crap beat out of me a lot for a guy who’s supposed to be indestructible?”

  Her face shifted under the mask. He recognized the faint smile. “Considering the battles you become involved in, it is not that surprising.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her by the waist. They drifted back into the air. “I have missed you,” she said.

  “You threw me out a window.”

  “To be exact,” said Stealth, “I had Captain Freedom throw you out of a window.”

  “Ahhh, well.”

  “You were the best choice, George. You have a flexible mind and had already begun to doubt.” She shifted against him. “You were also the most likely to survive the fall if it did not cause you to wake up.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. The wind shifted and her cloak wrapped around both of them. It twisted and flexed like a living thing.

  “So how much of it was real?”

  “How much of what?”

  “Y’know,” he said, “you’re the worst person on Earth when it comes to playing dumb. For a number of reasons.”

  “I concur.”

  “So all that stuff about your parents. Was that all true?”

  Stealth shifted her body again. One of her legs wrapped around one of his. “The majority of it,” she said. “A few minor details were changed to better fit Smith’s illusion.”

  “Like what?”

  Her body tensed and then relaxed. Then it tensed again and he felt a deep breath whisper against his chest. “You once asked me how long it had been since anyone had used my name. You were impressed that I knew it had been twenty-eight months, at the time.”

  “I remember,” said St. George. “When we were going down to spy on the Seventeens, just before that first big battle with Legion.”

  “Before I told it to you,” said Stealth, “the last person to use my name had been my father.”

  “Ahhh.”

  “Nine minutes later I killed him.”

  They hung in the air for a few more moments. George pulled her closer. She was still tense.

  “I’m guessing there’s a little more to the story than that?”

  “There is. Do you wish to hear it?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  She relaxed. Just enough that he could feel it. “As you have observed,” she said, “my father was not a good man. Killing him was an act of self-defense, although he had committed numerous crimes which would warrant execution.”

  “Did you want to do it?”

  She looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Did you want to kill him?”

  Her head went side to side. Just once. St. George remembered the thin man in the hotel suite with the round spectacles and the efficient motions.

  “He was a monster in several senses,” said Stealth, “and a wanted criminal in twenty-three countries. However, he was my father. I wish he had not put me in such a position. I took no pleasure from it.”

  “Why did he try to kill you?”

  She pressed her head against his chest. “So he would know if I was ready to succeed him or not. It is an inheritance I have attempted to avoid for most of my life.”

  St. George took her in both arms and hugged her. “I would’ve stopped him for you, if I could’ve.”

  “You could not have.”

  “Hey,” he said, “I’ll have you know I’m an actual superhero. I used to be known as the Mighty Dragon? Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  “You are being foolish in an attempt to distract me from these thoughts.”

  “Mostly, yeah.”

  “Thank you.”

  They drifted away from the water tower and over Roddenberry. The wind shifted again. Her cloak whipped away from them and spread out behind her.

  “Speaking of supervillains,” he said, “have you thought about what we’re going to do with … Smith, I guess.”

  “I have,” she said. “Dr. Connolly believes she can maintain the medical coma indefinitely, provided we can supply certain drugs she require
s.”

  “And if we can’t?”

  “We have spoken about the possibility of performing an extended cordectomy encompassing the contralateral vocal fold, ventricular fold, and the subglottis. She has never performed such a procedure, but she feels it is within her ability.”

  St. George furrowed his brow. “What’s that mean?”

  “If we must, we will surgically remove Christian Nguyen’s vocal cords. This should eliminate Smith’s powers.”

  He shook his head.

  “This bothers you?”

  “Of course it does. Christian was a pain in the ass, but she didn’t deserve this.”

  “I agree,” Stealth said. “Unfortunately, Smith’s abilities do not leave us many options.”

  “I know. I get it, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He looked at the buildings below them. Light shone up through one of the skylights. “Danielle’s up late.”

  “Yes.”

  “Honestly,” said St. George, “I’m kind of surprised Smith didn’t have you preprogrammed to kill her or me. Anyone who tried to stop him.”

  “He tried,” Stealth said. “Using your own experience with him as a guide, I formed a semantic argument in my mind to keep myself from acting on his commands.”

  “How so?”

  “Agent Smith ordered me to deal with any potential threats. I knew we were being followed, and had several reasons to believe it was Danielle, but there was no possible scenario where she would pose a potential threat.”

  “How could you know that?”

  Stealth bowed her head against his chest. The breeze pushed her hood back. “If I was protecting Smith, Danielle would pose no threat at all.”

  St. George stared at her for a moment and then laughed.

  “Once she had fired the pistol,” Stealth continued, “she was no longer a potential threat, but an actual one. Smith had not ordered me to deal with actual threats.”

  He kissed her through the mask. “You’re amazing, you know that?”