Ex-Isle

by Peter Clines

  A light cut through the fog and stopped in the air in front of them. Holy frak, said Zzzap, that was amazing. Like, Reign of Fire archangel amazing.

  “Is everything good back there?”

  The glowing wraith looked over his shoulder. Yeah, all under control. Maddy’s keeping the last few exes down, and some of Eliza’s people are dealing with them. Zzzap looked down at Maleko. What about him?

  “He’s done,” said St. George. “They know the truth now.”

  CESAR LOOKED UP at the battlesuit. The big, empty lenses looked down at him. It didn’t look too angry he’d messed it up.

  Metal edges curled up out of the forearm. One of them looked like the jagged edge of a steak knife. From this angle, outside of the exoskeleton, he could see how one of the remaining supports had been torqued out of line. He’d been lucky the whole hand hadn’t snapped off while he fought the horde.

  At least it could be rebuilt.

  Wilson had died buying time for his squad. The exes had spread wider than expected and he’d been cut off. Going off the bodies, he’d put down half a dozen using his rifle like a club, then four more with his bare hands when they were too tight around him to swing the weapon. There wasn’t enough left of him to reanimate.

  One of the scavengers, Paul, had died that morning while they cleaned the last of the exes out of Eden. No one was sure how. One minute he’d been searching the garden plots with two other sweepers, the next minute they found a dead ballerina gnawing on him, its frilly dress soaked in blood. Kennedy put it down with a quick knife to the base of the skull.

  Lester lost three gardeners. One of them wasn’t dead yet. Javi’s temperature hovered around 101, and he’d been throwing up a lot. They’d tied him to a tree in case he died and reanimated when no one was looking. The plan was to take him back to the Mount and see if Doc Connolly could do anything for him.

  Lester himself was still a wreck, although now it was shame rather than panic. It had taken him half an hour to stop crying. He barely remembered Danielle saving him.

  In the big scheme of things, Cesar knew he’d got off easy.

  He walked into the big room. It was still a mess of tools and components that needed to be repacked. He tapped his fingers on the Longshot. “So,” he said, “are we calling this done now?”

  Danielle looked up from the worktable and shook her head. Her ponytail slid back and forth across her shoulders. “Hardly.”

  “Gibbs says you fought off an ex with it. Saved Lester.”

  She snorted. “I shot an ex at point-blank range. Doesn’t mean it works.” She waved a hand at the dark stain on the carpet.

  He smirked. “You just don’t want to give me any guns.”

  She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the motherboard she’d freed from a laptop.

  Cesar watched her for a moment. “You okay?”

  She didn’t look up. “Fine.”

  “No,” he said. “I mean…y’know. Are you okay after having one of them in here with you?”

  Danielle sighed.

  “I just…I know you have problems, sometimes, with the exes. We don’t talk about it, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I just—”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She looked him in the eyes. “I think it might’ve done me some good. Made me think about how I’ve been wasting a lot of time hiding like this.” She waved her hand at the room and the worktables. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to get done. I can’t let being scared slow me down anymore.”

  Cesar smiled. “That’s good,” he said.

  “Yeah. But you’re deflecting a bit, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  Danielle gestured at his left arm. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I’ve seen the suit. I know you’re not good.”

  He shrugged. “Is what it is, y’know? God’s will, that’s what my mom would say.”

  “Let me see it,” said Danielle.

  He sighed and tugged up his sleeve. Once it was past his elbow he held the arm out to her. She leaned in to study it.

  His forearm sagged across the top. The loose skin sunk down and formed a shallow trench from the inside of his elbow to his wrist. There were a few long scabs at either end of the gouge. Two or three of them were going to leave scars.

  “Did it bleed a lot?”

  Cesar nodded. “Not, like, tons, but enough to freak everybody out when I got out of Cerbe—out of the battlesuit.”

  “You can call it Cerberus,” said Danielle. “I think you’ve earned it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  His lips curled into a smile. “So, anyway, d’you know Megan?”

  “The scavenger? Yeah, I met her back at the Mount. I think she was an EMT or something like that.”

  “Paramedic, yeah. Near as she can tell, I ripped out one of my arm bones. The radials.”

  “Radius.”

  “Yeah, that one. And some tendons, maybe. They won’t be sure what until I get it X-rayed, maybe CAT-scanned.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  “Feels a little weird, but yeah.” His hand flopped back and forth. Palm up, palm down. Palm up, palm down. The valley of flesh rippled, filled in, and then sunk back into his arm. “Think it gets me out of any heavy work for a while.”

  “At least until we can get the supports back in.”

  He blinked.

  Danielle gestured out at the courtyard. At the wounded exoskeleton. “Once they get the fence reinforced,” she said, “we can get the supports back, straighten them out, and put them back into—”

  Cesar shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No,” he agreed, “but it doesn’t feel right, y’know? I think when part of me, of whatever I’m in, is gone, it’s just…y’know, gone.”

  He flexed the arm again, twisting the hand back and forth.

  “I’ll see if I can come up with some kind of brace for you,” Danielle said. “Something to reinforce your wrist. I mean, if Doc Connolly doesn’t have a good one back at the Mount.”

  “Nah, you don’t have to.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “I do.” She looked at him. “I’m glad you’re on the team, Cesar. That you’re part of Cerberus. You’re going to do great things with the battlesuit.”

  “Thanks.”

  Danielle cleared her throat and waited for him to say something else. When he didn’t, she bent her head back to the motherboard on the worktable.

  “So,” he said. “The first sergeant, huh?”

  “Kennedy? What about her?”

  “She’s kinda got the hots for you.”

  She shrugged and didn’t look up. “Sounds like it.”

  “Does she even have a first name?”

  Danielle stopped and thought about it. “I mean, she does, yeah, but I don’t think I know what it is.”

  “And you?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “You know my first name.”

  “No, not that.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” Cesar made a point of studying something outside the window. “I didn’t know if you were into, y’know, girls.”

  “Never thought about it.”

  “No?”

  Danielle shrugged again.

  “I mean, it’s cool with me.”

  “Gee,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “thanks.”

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant, y’know, if it makes you happy, that’s cool.”

  She smirked and shook her head.

  “Way I see it, you like girls, I like girls, just gives us something new to talk about, right?”

  She hid her chuckle behind a cough, or maybe it was just lucky timing. “Cesar,” she said, “if anything happened between me and First Sergeant Kennedy—and it’s not going to—I wouldn’t talk
about it with anyone.”

  “I’m just saying, y’know, I’m here for you.”

  “Great. Since you’re here, grab my soldering kit, would you?”

  He chuckled and pulled open a drawer in the tool chest. He pulled out the leather bundle and tossed it to Danielle. She grabbed it with both hands and winced.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing.” She put the kit on the table and pulled her sleeve back down to her wrist.

  “Hey,” he said, “you’re not wearing the contact suit. I been trying to figure out why you looked different.”

  “My braid’s not tucked in.”

  “Yeah, that too, but I think the only time I’ve ever seen you not wearing it was when we—”

  “Hey,” she said, coughing out the word. “We don’t talk about it anymore.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Like I said, after the whole thing with Lester and the ex, I just…I didn’t see any point in being scared anymore.”

  Cesar smiled. “Good. ’Bout time we got you out there to kick some ass.”

  She reached over to brush her other sleeve down, and he saw the edges of white tape and gauze peeking out. “Hey,” he said. “What happened to your arm?”

  Danielle glanced down as if she hadn’t noticed the bandage before. “Oh, it’s nothing.” She gestured at the Longshot on the worktable. “It wasn’t mounted on anything and didn’t have the housing on, so when I fired it the whole thing jumped up in the air. I cut myself on one of the interior struts.”

  “Is it okay?”

  She tugged the sleeve down over the bandage and managed a tight smile. “Yeah, of course. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  MY COSTUME WAS junk at this point. Gone. The suit and cape were both ruined. I’d lost one of the gloves—it fell out of my pocket while I was helping to clean out the studio. I’m guessing the Mighty Dragon mask was still up on the roof at Hollywood and Highland, but I’d been busy and hadn’t seen a point to going back for it.

  It took some work to find the right jacket. Stealth was right. I needed something more durable to wear, especially if we were going to keep heading out into the city. About ninety percent of the jackets I found were heavy, black biker things, though. Lots of snaps and straps and…well, black. Much more her style. Or Gorgon’s.

  The brown flight jacket suited me better. It was a little easier on the eyes, not quite so harsh. The leather was a bit softer, too, so I’d be patching it more. But it was worth it to not look like some kind of super-SWAT cop or motorcycle gang member.

  Plus, yeah, it’s a little Indiana Jones. Not a bad thing for anyone.

  So, the costume was gone. The closest thing I had to it was the red Henley I had on under the leather jacket. I was hoping the splash of bright color would help remind people who I’d been.

  I stood near the examination tents and wondered if I looked inspiring or reassuring at all.

  I’d been there for about half an hour. Some people looked at me like I was a nut. Some recognized me from rescuing them and thanked me again. I’d like to think the positives were in the lead.

  And just as I was thinking this, a shout came from the Melrose Gate. Then another one. I could see people moving there. Someone had come through the gate, and the guards were jumping into action.

  I leaped into the air. I could get up about thirty or thirty-five feet and glide about three hundred if the wind was right. It was enough to carry me to the gate. I could look down and see a lot of it before I landed.

  Three people. Man, woman, girl in her teens. The women helped the man stay on his feet. He was in the middle of a coughing fit and had one arm close to his body. The guards at the gate all had their guns trained on him.

  “It’s okay,” the woman was saying. The man tried to say something, but she talked over him. Pretty much yelled over him. “He’s okay. Just leave him alone.”

  I hit the cobblestones and heads turned. Costume or no, somebody dropping out of the sky commands attention. “What’s going on?”

  One of the guards, Derek, made a little wave at the man with his rifle. “Infected.”

  “He’s not infected,” said the woman.

  “He’s not that bad,” added the teenager. She looked enough like both of them I felt safe calling her their daughter.

  “Once it’s cleaned up, you’ll see,” said the woman. “It’s nothing.” She was edging toward hysterical. Maybe three good steps away from it.

  The man…the father coughed again and looked at me. His family might’ve been in denial, but he wasn’t. He’d been expecting this. He’d accepted it.

  That’d make this easier.

  “Let’s put the guns down,” I said. I stepped forward and put myself between the family and as many guards as I could. “We’re not trying to scare anyone.”

  Another guard, a black man with dreadlocks, glanced past me at the father. “Yeah, but he’s defin—”

  “I’ve got this,” I told him.

  His eyes opened a little wider, and his chin went up just a bit. Understanding and relief, all at once. He nodded, let his rifle swing down to the pavement, and turned away just enough from the man to make it clear he wasn’t considered a threat anymore.

  I waited until they’d all aimed their rifles somewhere else before I turned to the father. “Hi,” I said. “I’m George.” I held out my hand.

  The father smiled a little. His shoulders relaxed. “Bryan,” he said. “With a y.” He reached out and shook my hand. His palm was warm and clammy. I saw the spots of blood on his other sleeve that the guards had seen. We’d all seen it a bunch of times over the past few months. Blood seeping up from underneath and into the fabric. A bite someone was trying to hide.

  I let go of his hand. “Can you and I talk for a couple of minutes?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “We probably should.”

  “No,” hissed the woman. She put a hand on his good arm, and I saw a glint of gold on her finger. Husband and wife with their daughter. “Don’t let them—”

  “We’re just going to talk,” he told her. His voice caught, like he was holding back another cough. He looked at me. “Just talking, right?”

  I nodded. “Just talking. I promise.”

  His wife swallowed and took her hand off his arm. He wobbled, then glanced at me. “Could I get a little help?”

  “Do you need to lean on me?”

  “That’d be good.”

  I slung his arm up around my neck and did the same to him. Two old friends. Heat rolled off him. If he wasn’t so pale, I’d think his whole body was sunburned. This close I could smell it on him. A bit of stomach acid from throwing up, and under that was the hot, dark smell of someone who was really sick.

  We walked away from the gatehouse, past the parking lot, and stopped by one of the big planters. I eased him down so he could lean against it. “Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Bryan said. “Thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  He let out a long breath. His shoulders slumped. “I just…Jesus, I didn’t think…I didn’t want them to gun me down in front of my family.”

  “They wouldn’t’ve,” I told him. “They were just nervous, that’s all.”

  He nodded and coughed. This time it was a deep, rattling cough. When he took his hand away from his mouth, there were splatters of blood on his palm.

  “How long ago?” I asked him.

  He sighed and pushed his sleeve up. There were three big cloth Band-Aids stretched across his forearm. They were all wet and dark. “Yesterday morning,” he said. “I stepped outside and the neighbor’s kid got me.” He shook his head, chuckled, and it turned into a cough. “I was stupid. Should’ve been more careful. I just saw him by the garage and I thought he…” The words turned into a bout of sharp hacking.

  “You’re strong,” I said. “Most people are bedridden by ten or twelve hours, tops.”

  He swung his head back at his wife and daughter. “I was out of it for a little bit,” he sai
d, “but I had to get them here. Get them safe. That was all that mattered.”

  “You did it,” I told him. “They’ll be safe here.”

  “You promise?”

  As of this morning, we’d brought almost two thousand people inside our urban fortress. Odds were we were going to double that in the next month. We’d already attracted about a hundred exes to every gate inside. None of us were sure if this was going to work or not.

  “I’ll do the best I can to keep them safe,” I told him. “Them and everyone else here. I promise.”

  Some worry flowed out of his neck and shoulders. He sagged against the planter. “Thank you.”

  I shook my head. “I wish we’d gotten to you sooner. You might’ve…”

  He raised a hand. “There’s a lot of people in Los Angeles. You’re saving everyone you can, I’m sure.”

  “You’re really calm about this.”

  “You have anyone special?”

  I thought about it. “Not really, I guess.”

  His mouth twitched into a smile. “My wife and little girl are safe,” he told me. “That’s all that matters to me.”

  He took in a breath, and it sputtered out of his lungs.

  “So,” he said, “what happens now?”

  I’d had to do this eleven times now. All of them fought and screamed. I’d kept hoping for someone reasonable who’d understand and accept it.

  Turned out it didn’t make it any better.

  I kicked at the ground. “You can’t stay inside,” I told him. “Zero tolerance for the infected. I can take you outside, drop you someplace…safe. Somewhere you won’t be attacked.”

  He sighed. Something gleamed on his cheek. He was crying, but trying to keep it hidden.

  “I’m sorry,” I told him. It sounded weak and stupid.

  He shook his head. “They’re safe. That’s the important thing,” he repeated. “Can I say good-bye?”

  “Yeah,” I told him. “Of course.”

  He hooked his arm over my shoulders, and we walked back to the gatehouse. Most of the guards tried hard to make it look like they weren’t watching. They all knew what was coming. I think they were freaked out by how calm he was, too.