Ex-Communication e-3

by Peter Clines

  Gunfire echoed behind the demon and it turned with a growl. As the horn-covered head turned, St. George saw rounds spark off the jutting points and one of the wider tusks. It sounded like someone with a machine gun.

  Stealth stood on the roof of the SUV, her Glocks firing in each hand. They ran dry and she let the magazines tumble into the crowd of exes below. The guns spun in her hands, her fingers danced between grip and belt, and she was firing again. Bullets sprayed across the demon’s face like heavy rain.

  Cairax took a few steps toward her, and her guns hit empty again. Its hooves thudded against the pavement and trampled a dead woman beneath them. It brushed a trio of exes out of the way with a sweep of its arm.

  Then it glanced down.

  The three exes had wrapped their arms tight around its long forearm. Each one held on without biting, or even gnashing their teeth at the air. They glared up at the demon.

  “You ready for round two, pinche pendejo ?” they asked in unison.

  Cairax had time to snarl before the exes pounced on it. The tide of the undead shifted as all the exes in the area charged the demon. A dozen grabbed its other arm. A platoon’s worth of them tackled its legs while a score more threw themselves on the tail. They swarmed over the demon like ants on a lion.

  Three dead people sank their fingers into the coil holding St. George and yanked at it. They loosened it enough for him to get his hands in. He pried the tail open and dropped away. St. George took in a deep breath.

  An ex loomed over him. It had been a heavyset man with a goatee, dressed in a filthy tee and wool cap. “Your lucky day, dragon man,” growled the corpse, “ ’cause I actually hate this fucking thing more’n I hate you.”

  St. George nodded. “We need to hold it,” he said. “Stealth needs a clear shot at its chest.”

  The ex nodded and hurled itself onto the demon’s back. Over a hundred dead people clung to the monster, burying it beneath their bodies. They shifted to expose its bony chest.

  St. George leaped into the air, soared over the demon, and landed next to Stealth. “I think Rodney just gave us our edge.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Ready to tell me the big secret plan?”

  “Symbolism,” she said. “We have the sword and an archangel.”

  “What?”

  “A creature of radiance and will, shaped in God’s image.”

  The phrasing stuck in George’s head for a moment. Then Cairax Murrain lashed out with both arms and dozens of exes went flying. The barbed tail skewered three and shook them off. It reached up and seized the dead woman who’d wrapped herself across its eyes.

  “Stealth!” someone shouted.

  The cloaked woman turned. So did Cairax Murrain. Captain Freedom slumped on a car near Madelyn. She was on the roof, holding the sword over her head.

  The demon’s saucer eyes squinted as if it was trying to focus on something. Then it snarled.

  It could see her.

  “Hold the demon!” snapped Stealth.

  St. George hurled himself through the air. His boot slammed into Cairax’s face, knocking the demon’s head back into a small tree. The monster tried to bite down on his leg but only tore the heel off his boot. Cairax swung one arm at him and glared at the hero.

  The Corpse Girl tried to remember everything she’d seen in pirate movies about throwing swords. None of it seemed instructional. In the end she just swung her arm back and hurled the weapon in Stealth’s direction.

  As the hilt left her hand Cairax’s eyes got even wider. It hissed through its forest of tusks and lunged forward. Another dozen exes stumbled forward and threw themselves at its hooves. They grabbed at its calves and thighs.

  St. George grabbed the demon’s arm and twisted it back. The odd proportions made it hard to use leverage, but he got the claw up behind the spike-covered back again. The spidery hand flexed in front of his face and the movie Aliens flashed through his mind.

  All at once George knew why “in God’s image” sounded familiar. It was a phrase from the Bible. It was what people always said about humanity.

  The blade spun through the air like a propeller. Stealth took three steps, reached up, and snatched the whirling saber out of the air halfway between Madelyn and the demon. Her fingers shifted on the grip and she pulled it back over her shoulder. For a moment she was a statue. Then she hurled the sword at Cairax Murrain like a javelin.

  Light flashed between them. A sonic boom cracked the air. Zzzap placed himself between Stealth and the demon.

  A creature composed of radiance and will, shaped in God’s image.

  A man made of light and thought.

  Zzzap reached out an arm so his palm was blistering the creature’s hide and hoped he wasn’t about to die.

  The sword melted the second it touched the gleaming wraith’s shoulder. The blade dissolved into a stream of steel and silver. The intricate engraving blurred together and was gone. The leather grip incinerated, a small cloud of ash that vanished in a swirl of superheated air. Almost a third of the sword boiled away to vapor and broke apart in the furnace that was his body, reduced to mere atoms.

  For Zzzap it was every type of discomfort his mind could pull up as an analogy. Having something physical inside him, even just for a tenth of a second, was past nauseating—it was agony. It was food poisoning and charley horses and getting kicked in the nuts and broken bones and smoke inhalation all at once. He sensed the sword’s path, right where Stealth said it would be going, and forced his arm to stay up with his fingers spread.

  The stream of molten metal shot from his palm. Free of his internal fires, it shed heat into the air around the demon. Inertia shaped it into a gleaming icicle of steel as it crossed the open space.

  The sword in Zzzap’s hand punched through the demon’s skin and slid between two ribs. Smoke poured from the wound as it pierced Cairax Murrain’s heart. The blade slid even farther, and used the last of its momentum to bury itself in the bone plates of the monster’s back.

  Cairax Murrain roared. It was a howl of pain and anger and frustration and fear that shattered glass and made eardrums bleed. The demon threw off the exes holding its arms and lashed out at Zzzap. The talons tore through the wraith with a sizzle and a loud crack. It thrashed and howled and hurled St. George across the wide street.

  Zzzap stood there with his arm extended as the sword boiled away around his palm. The jagged piece of steel never moved. It was solid in the air between Zzzap and Cairax Murrain. White flames shot from the demon’s mouth. The wound sparked and flared and caught fire. The blaze started to build and swell around the demon.

  St. George saw Stealth dive behind a truck. Madelyn tugged Captain Freedom down behind a car. The exes were still throwing themselves at the demon. They were laughing even as the flames charred them down to the bone.

  St. George closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his face.

  Everything went white. There was a sound he felt more than heard. And then nothing.

  Thirty-Five

  Now

  SOMEONE VERY FAR away pushed on his shoulder and called a name. They kept pushing and calling. It echoed down to him and he recognized it. “St. George?”

  He regretted it. Admitting he knew his name meant consciousness. Consciousness brought a lot of pain with it.

  The face over his was pale, with chalky eyes framed by ragged hair. He pulled his hand back to strike before he recognized the Corpse Girl. Her dark hair hung down, shadowing her face and making unfamiliar lines.

  “Don’t be a jerk,” Madelyn said.

  She helped him sit up. His knuckles ached. His chest itched and burned where the demon’s claws had raked his flesh. He was willing to bet the wounds were infected.

  He looked at her. Her coat had sizzled away, and her jeans and shirt were singed. Charred in places. So was her hair. One of her arms and part of her face were burned.

  He nodded at the arm. “How are you?”

  Madelyn nodded. “I’ll be fin
e,” she said. “I think Captain Freedom’s really bad, though. He’s got broken bones and a fever.”

  St. George stood up. The last of his leather jacket crumbled away like burned parchment. The tattered shirt below wasn’t much better off, but it held together for now. He hobbled when he walked, and remembered the demon had bitten one of his boot heels off.

  A wide spiderweb of white ash stretched across the street. It covered cars and the cracked pavement and the bony remains of hundreds of exes. The dust hung in the air like a white haze. He looked up at the moon, lighting the whole scene. The dark clouds were gone.

  They were halfway to Freedom when St. George saw the black boots stretched out beneath an ash-whitened truck. He grabbed the chassis and flipped the truck up. What was left of the tires broke apart and the battered Chevy crashed onto its side.

  Stealth’s cloak wrapped around her like a shroud. Parts of it had burned. He could see glimpses of dark skin where her bodysuit had been torn or charred away.

  He set his fingers against her wrist to check for a pulse. She grabbed his arm and pulled herself up, the knife in her other hand aimed at his own throat. The blade scraped off his Adam’s apple before she stopped herself.

  She took a few ragged breaths. A third of her mask was gone. He could see her cheekbone and the smooth line of her jaw and the edge of her lips at the corner of her mouth. “You survived,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “We did.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and allowed him to lift her up. She settled on her feet and took a few cautious steps. “I appear to be uninjured.”

  “Good.”

  Madelyn waved them over to Freedom. The huge officer lay on the far side of the street, sheltered by the car the dead girl had dragged him behind. His hand wrapped over the bloody wound in his side. His breathing was ragged.

  St. George looked around. “Try to find Barry,” he told Madelyn.

  She nodded and darted away. Stealth followed her.

  He crouched and set a hand on Freedom’s forehead. It was burning hot. His eyes blinked open and he looked at the hero. “I take it we won, sir.”

  “Seems like it,” said St. George. “You look like crap, Captain.”

  “I think the demon’s tail might’ve been poisonous. And I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “No idea.”

  St. George helped the big man to his feet. He swayed for a moment, then fell against a car. “I think I’ll wait here, sir,” he coughed.

  “Zzzap’s alive,” Madelyn called from a few yards away. “And he’s … uhhh, naked.”

  “That’s normal,” said St. George. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked Freedom.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  St. George glanced around for something to cover his friend as he made his way across the rubble. He didn’t have much left in the way of clothes himself. Pretty much everything that could burn near the demon had burned.

  A few yards from Barry was the center of the spiderweb. Dozens of long bones lay there in a heap. A distorted skeleton, like the remains of a dinosaur. Scraps of charred flesh hung on the long bones. A long shard of gleaming metal stood between two ribs. It was the only thing not covered in dust.

  Stealth tapped the horned skull with her boot and it fell free of the pile. It looked swollen and round. The sockets were too large. The jaw bristled with teeth like daggers. The spine dragged after it, bound together with threads of gristle.

  Barry sprawled on the pavement. His dark skin was covered with ash. St. George remembered the ghastly look from 9/11 footage. The hand that had held the sword was still spread wide open, as if it had cramped that way.

  Madelyn’s fingers danced down her shirt and she shrugged out of her flannel. Her bra and her skin were the same shade of white. She draped it across Barry’s lap. The other man’s eyes fluttered as she did.

  Barry looked up at them. “You guys are still alive?”

  “Yeah,” said St. George. He kneeled. “Barely.”

  “Am I still alive?”

  “I hope so. We don’t need any more ghosts.”

  Barry nodded. “Cairax?”

  St. George tilted his head back toward Stealth. “You got him.”

  “Wow.” He started to relax, then his eyes snapped open. “Oh, crap,” he said. “Crap, crap, crap.”

  “What’s wrong?” Madelyn asked.

  “Are you okay?” St. George tried to check his friend’s body and wondered what he wasn’t seeing.

  Barry’s eyes were wide with terror. “I can’t feel my legs. I think … I think I’m paralyzed.”

  St. George looked at his friend for a moment, then burst out laughing. Madelyn giggled. Barry kept the act up for another few seconds before a grin broke out across his face.

  “Well, damn,” Barry said after a minute of laughter. “I always wanted to do that.”

  “Do what?”

  He smiled at them. “I think we just saved the world.”

  * * *

  St. George stood up to join Stealth and saw the exes.

  At least three hundred of them stood halfway down the street, near the crater. They stretched across La Brea Avenue, blocking it, at least four or five rows deep. Their arms were crossed. Their jaws didn’t move. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a similar line behind them, and one in either direction on 3rd Street.

  They were surrounded.

  “I have no ammunition,” said Stealth. “I assume the captain is incapacitated. Is Zzzap well enough to fight?”

  “Maybe,” said St. George. He did a double take and stared at her face. The hole in her mask had vanished.

  “Focus, George,” she said.

  “How did you—”

  “I carry a spare mask in my belt.” She tipped her head to the line ahead of them. “Be ready.”

  One of the exes marched forward. It had been a tall, lean black man once. Two fingers were missing off its left hand. A gaping hole in its side was clogged with ropy lengths of meat that had probably been intestines before they were hit with a shotgun blast. It had both eyes, and St. George could see Legion’s expressions behind its face.

  The ex stopped ten feet away from them, just past where the spray of ash and dust ended. St. George rolled his fingers into fists. He felt Stealth tense next to him.

  “Could kill all of you fuckers right now,” said the dead man. The fingers of its mangled hand curled into a fist, then went loose again. Its jaw shifted side to side.

  The heroes didn’t move.

  The ex shook its head. “You got an hour.”

  St. George waited a few moments. He let a few curls of smoke twist out of his nose. “Meaning what?”

  “Got an hour to get back behind your Wall,” Legion said. “Nothing’ll bite until then. After that, you’re on your own.”

  “Just like that?” said St. George. “After all this time, you’ve got us down and beat and you’re just walking away?”

  “No,” said the ex. “ You’re walking away. I’m lettin’ you.”

  “I do not believe you,” said Stealth.

  “The fuck do I care if you believe me or not?”

  St. George looked the dead man in the eye. “Why?”

  Legion waved the mangled hand at the web of ash. “I ain’t stupid. El demonio here was gonna trash my city. You helped stop it. Gets you a pass. One time only.”

  St. George and Legion stared at each other for a moment, and then the hero nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, fuck you, too,” said the ex. “Last thing I want is to owe you anything.”

  “One hour, then,” said St. George.

  Legion grunted at the hero and glanced at Stealth.

  She crossed her arms. “This changes nothing.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “You are a murderer.”

  “Take a look in the mirror, puta ,” the ex snorted. “We’re all killers. I just killed people you liked mor
e, that’s all.”

  The dead man turned and walked away from them.

  “And what happens next time we’re outside?” called St. George. “We’ll just go back to trying to wipe each other out?”

  Legion looked back. “Guess you’ll find out,” he said. “You got an hour.”

  The dead man’s face went slack and it stumbled on its next step. But its jaws didn’t move. The lines began to break up and the silent exes staggered off in different directions.

  St. George looked at Stealth. She stared after the dead man. “Now what?”

  “Captain Freedom requires medical attention,” she said. “Zzzap, Corpse Girl, and I will make our own way back to the Big Wall. If Legion keeps his word, we should have no problem reaching the South Gate within an hour.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “We shall find a secure location and await your return. For now, you should get the captain to the hospital.”

  “Yeah,” said St. George, nodding. “He was looking pretty … damn it.”

  He hurled himself into the air and headed back to the Trader Joe’s.

  * * *

  The puddle of blood around Max wasn’t as wide as St. George expected, but he was still pretty sure the sorcerer was dead. The man’s skin was as white as Madelyn’s, and his chest was soaked in red where the bullets had punched into him. He didn’t move at all as St. George landed on the rooftop.

  Then he shook and coughed up a spray of red. His eyes fluttered and he looked up at St. George. “Ahhh,” he croaked. “So … you won.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Congrat …” He coughed again and flecks of blood came out of the holes in his chest.

  “Save it,” St. George said. “I’m going to get you to the hospital.”

  Max’s head trembled side to side. He raised his hand an inch and tried to wave the hero back. “No,” he wheezed. “Done this enough times now.”

  “You have another cheat lined up?”

  Another minimal shake of the head. “I’m done. Glad … glad you killed him.”

  “Is this your deathbed conversion?”

  The sorcerer managed a weak smile. “Was on your side all along.”