by Peter Clines
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.”
“Probably?”
The hero shrugged. “He’s still just a guy, and not a terribly bright one.”
Franklin mashed gauze on the bloody holes and wrapped the arm with white tape.
“Sergeant Monroe,” said Freedom, “take the rest of Eleven and clean out this building. We don’t want any surprises two or three hours from now. If it’s down, make sure it’s staying down.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” He bent down to the other twitching corpse and twisted its head around to face the floor. The body went limp.
“Jefferson, you’re with me. We need to secure the armory and make sure the perimeter holds,” continued the captain. “It’s going to be getting dark in about five hours and this situation needs to be stabilized before then.”
Sunlight poured in through the barracks door and blinded them all for a moment. So, said Zzzap, how are things on this side of the giant military deathtrap?
Freedom and a few of the soldiers glared at him.
“I want you to go with them to the armory,” said St. George. “Stay there and make sure they get everything they need.”
And then?
“We get the weapons, stop the exes, and then we go after Smith.”
Smith?
“He’s got Stealth. He’s trying to get away to a more secure base. She’s going to be his hostage to keep us all in line.”
Smith took her as a hostage? said Zzzap. Wow, talk about making a poor—
He froze and hung in the air for a moment, like a statue of light.
“Barry?”
I just want to be clear on this, said Zzzap. We need to get guns—lots of guns—and then rescue our ultra-calm leader who’s been captured by Agent Smith?
St. George sighed.
Oh, this is so going to rock!
Chapter 29
NOW
In the distance they could see the opening in the fence and the flash of weapons. The clatter of dead teeth echoed in the air, closer than it had been.
“I’ll help at the gate,” said St. George. “You get to the armory and do what you need to do.”
“We’ll join you there in ten minutes,” said Freedom. “Tell Staff Sergeant Pierce you’ve got my approval. If he asks, say you’re five by five. He’ll know what it means.”
Zzzap let out a buzzing laugh. St. George tried not to grin. “Got it.”
Freedom gave him a quick nod and sprinted off with Kennedy and Jefferson. The three of them were damned fast, the hero had to admit, even the one with the broken arm. It took them seconds to cover a hundred yards and vanish around a corner.
Watch your back, said Zzzap. Buffy references aside, I still don’t trust any of these guys.
“It’s not like your movies.”
Yeah, it’s going a lot worse so far. He flitted away after the soldiers.
St. George leaped into the air and came down in a cluster of exes stumbling through the middle fence. A sweep of his arms sent half of them sprawling and he snapped out a backhand that collapsed the skull of one more. Dozens of them shifted their awkward march, heading for him instead of into the base.
He grabbed a dead woman in tiger-striped camos and swung her into the crowd like a flail, battering one body against several. Her boots crushed a handful of chattering skulls before the shoulder he was holding pulled apart. He let the body’s momentum carry it off into the crowd. It knocked down another half-dozen exes as it soared away.
Off to his left, the head of an ex burst with the whine of a high-velocity round. The gunfire trailed off, and he heard shouts from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the soldiers looking at him.
“Don’t stop firing,” he shouted. “Don’t worry about me, just keep firing!”
An ex latched onto his wrist and tried to bury its teeth in his bicep. He flexed and cracked its jaw, then swung his elbow up to send it sprawling. Another one fell onto his back and he shrugged it off.
The snap and crack of bullets rose in the air around him again, matching the clack of teeth. One ex in a plaid shirt reached out for him and dropped when the top of its head vanished. The teeth of a dead man with a thick mustache snapped twice and then splintered away as a round tore through its mouth and out the top of its spine. A woman in a waitress uniform collapsed to the ground after the back of her head burst in a baseball-sized exit wound.
St. George spread his arms, caught a half-dozen exes, and marched away from the soldiers. The half-dozen caught four more, and another six got tangled in with those ten. By the time he reached the outer fence he was pushing close to forty of them. They flailed at his arms and neck and shoulders. Their fingers ran through his hair and over his scalp. One tried to snap its teeth on his cheek and pulled three of its incisors loose.
Just outside the fence line was a tall armored vehicle with a boat-like hull. It had part of the chainlink gate twisted beneath it. He got outside the boundary and threw the exes at the Guardian. Some of them crashed into the vehicle, others just stumbled back before they fell to the ground. More of the walking dead staggered around the vehicle and tripped over their fallen comrades.
The hero kicked a few bodies out of the way and managed to drag the outer gate about two-thirds shut. The chain drive on it snarled the whole way. He thought about forcing it farther but didn’t want to risk tearing the chainlink panel. He leaped back and did the same with the middle gate, but this one only went halfway.
“Guess we’re lucky those were already open,” said Pierce from behind him, “or that Guardian would’ve torn down all of them.” The sergeant had led the super soldiers into the fence line area while the rest of the men covered them. They moved through the bodies and paused at each one to ensure they were down for good.
St. George punched an ex making its way through the opening and it flew back into a steel post. “If this is the best luck we’re going to have, we’re in real trouble.”
They fell back into the base as the dead resumed their relentless march forward. The sergeant nodded at the exes. “Can’t you burn them all?”
“If we’re willing to wait the two or three hours it’ll take them to burn, sure. We need something to block this opening with, like a truck or something big.”
“Sergeant Stewart,” shouted Pierce. “Get hold of the motor pool and get us a truck or the Dragon Wagon over here pronto. Don’t worry about a full tank, just move it.”
St. George grabbed a dead man in a Marine uniform and hurled him underhand into the crowd like a bowling ball. “How long will it take them to get something here?”
“Three or four minutes if someone’s there,” said Pierce. “Maybe ten or fifteen if we send a runner. That’s if I send one of mine.”
“I’d do it if I were you.”
The staff sergeant nodded. “Guess until then it’s still a shooting gallery,” he said. He hefted his Bravo and hooked a new box of
ammo onto it.
* * *
Danielle crouched behind the soldiers with her back against the wall. An under-manned squad had shown up and made a passable fire line, especially with the lone men in either tower picking off exes with sniper shots. She had the pistols Stealth had given her, but she couldn’t stretch her arm out to aim them.
There was so much open space around her. Open space and undead.
At the fence gap, the Driver did a fine job dealing with the exes one on one. She had to admit, the battlesuit moved in a fluid, natural way she didn’t even think was possible. It crushed skulls and batted exes away with a casual grace. It looked alive.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, the armored figure turned and stomped back to the fire line. Two of the soldiers dove out of the way to avoid being trampled. It stopped in front of her like an oversized puppy.
“Ummmm, hey,” said the titan. “Big crowd of zombies coming. You got any tips?”
It pointed back at the hole in the fence. Fifty or sixty yards away, a thick mob of exes shambled forward. There were at least two hundred of them, with dozens of stragglers all around the main cluster. The soldiers saw the mob, too, and a palpable wave of unease washed over the line.
“Use the stunners,” said Danielle. “That’ll give these guys more time to make their shots.”
The armored skull tilted to the side. “The what?”
“The stunners. The TASER fields built into the fists,” she said. “They’ll put an ex down for a few seconds, long enough to give us an advantage.”
The dry rasp of wind filled the air as the exes sucked in a breath. “COMING TO GET YOU, BITCH,” they shouted. Dozens of arms pointed across the open space at Danielle. “GONNA STICK YOUR HEAD ON A FLAGPOLE AND CARRY IT EVERYWHERE!”
The titan looked over its shoulder and back at her. “That’s him, isn’t it? Peasy’s still alive.”
“Yeah,” she said. There was nothing between her and the zombies. She tried to sound calm. “Looks like he is.”
The battlesuit froze for a moment. “Okay, stunners,” it said. “How do I do that?”
“I thought you were controlling the suit?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know everything it does. It’s like getting a new car, y’know? I know how to do the basics, but none of the special features.”
“Great,” muttered Danielle. “Okay, let me talk you through it...”
* * *
Zzzap hung over the door to the armory as Freedom’s group caught up to him. At first glance it looked like any other building. With his own unique eyesight, Zzzap had seen the metal door and the double-thick concrete.
Behind them, three clusters of ex-soldiers came together to form a decent-sized mob. They staggered forward, their teeth snapping together again and again with a sound like wooden hail. Some of them still had the straps of their rifles tangled in their arms.
Awwwww, you found some friends, said the wraith. Good for you.
Kennedy was in the lead. She ran to the door and yanked open a panel that covered the keypad. Jefferson hit the wall next to her and twisted up his face as his arm slapped the concrete. Freedom let off two more bursts from his Bravo before it ran empty. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and pulled Lady Liberty from her holster. The modified shotgun bellowed and a trio of heads vanished in a spray of blood and gore.
“A little help would be appreciated,” the captain called up to the glowing figure. Lady Liberty roared again and the closest ex came apart into half a dozen pieces.
Kennedy tapped out a code. The keypad flashed red and she swore.
The wraith sighed and floated forward, putting himself between the soldiers and the undead. Watch your eyes. He held out his palms, took a deep mental breath, and focused. There was a blast of light, a howl of superheated air, and the exes vanished in a cloud of fire and ash. So did a parked jeep, a large swath of pavement, and the gravel beneath it.
Zzzap slumped in the air for a moment while the desert breeze scattered the new dust. “Are you doing okay, sir?” Jefferson squinted at the gleaming figure. He could almost see through it at points. “You look... pale.”
Don’t give me that ‘sir’ crap, said the wraith. A few hours ago you people were happy having me locked up in a box.
“I didn’t know anything about that,” said Freedom. He pushed past Kennedy and tapped the code into the keypad.
Sure you didn’t.
“I didn’t, and if I had I wouldn’t’ve stood for it. The President has been very firm on the treatment of prison—”
Yeah, whatever. You’re a real American hero. Go get your guns. He shook his head as the door locks clanged open. Then he snapped, I’m fine. Don’t you start in on me, too.
Sergeant Kennedy glanced up as she dragged the door open. “Sorry, sir?”
Nothing. Go get your guns. I’ll watch the door.
The three of them slipped into the armory. “Jefferson,” said the captain, “you’re not combat fit with that arm. Get a real splint from the first aid kit and then get as much ammunition as you can into that M35 outside. Once you get all of it, start on weapons.”
“Copy that, sir.”
Freedom grabbed a fresh ammo box for the Bravo and slung a spare on his harness. The Mk 19 grenade launcher caught his eye for a moment but he shook his head. He looked around and also found a trio of drums for Lady Liberty already mounted on a harness.
Across from him Kennedy finished wrapping the Velcro splint on Jefferson’s arm. She reloaded her Bravo with a fresh box and filled a bag with a dozen more. Two boxes of 9mm slid into her thigh pockets.
The captain was heading out when he saw the zip-tied plastic container in the holding cage. He snapped the ties with his fingers, pulled out the twin Glocks and their magazines, and stuffed them into his thigh pockets.
Kennedy watched him stash the pistols. “What are those for, sir?”
He twisted his lip. “If we need a peace offering.”
* * *
Harrison was on point as they moved through one of the underground passages between Krypton’s key buildings. It was hot as hell, but he knew it was safer than being upstairs where everything was falling apart. The thought crossed his mind and he felt a twinge of uneasiness. He’d felt it before a few times in his life. It was when he knew he was doing something wrong.
They had Stealth in handcuffs. After seeing her move in Smith’s office, he’d used two sets of cuffs. One was latched on her wrists, the other pinched her arms together a few inches above the first set. They’d shackled her legs, too. Polk and Taylor kept her at gunpoint as they marched down the tunnel. The chains rustled and chimed as she shuffled along the hallway.
Harrison turned to Smith. The agent walked between him and Stealth. He didn’t seem scared of her at all. “Sir,” said Harrison, “may I have a word?”
Smith glanced at his watch. “You do know we’re running a tight schedule, don’t you, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. It’s just...” Static roared in his head and he had to blink it away. He rubbed his face with his hand and realized his nose was bleeding again. He saw the swath of red on his hand and it helped him focus. “It sounds like there was some truth to what she said, about the Nest units not working. Perhaps we should contact Captain Freedom and make sure...”
“Make sure of what?”
“That we’re doing... that we should be...”
Smith watched the blood flow out of sergeant’s nose and tried not to take too much pleasure in it. He twitched when the voice spoke next to his ear.
“He is resisting your attempt to control him,” said Stealth.
Polk grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back. Smith could still feel her eyes boring into him. The woman had incredible willpower. He’d asked her to be quiet twice now. He hoped her nose was gushing blood under her mask.
“The sergeant just needs a moment to process his orders,” said the agent. He looked at the other soldiers. “We don’t need
to remember this moment of weakness, do we?”
They nodded with the serene faces of discreet gentlemen. “Of course not, sir,” said Polk.
“Excellent. Thank you both.” He turned to Harrison. “We’re going to follow Colonel Shelly’s last orders, remember? We’re going to get this prisoner to Groom Lake and establish a base there. It’s even more urgent now that this ‘Legion’ is attacking here.”
Stealth spun and brought her arms down over Polk’s head. Twin blows to the base of the collarbones stunned him and trapped his neck between the two sets of handcuff chains. She vaulted over him, swung her hips across his shoulders, and dropped to the ground behind the soldier. The cuffs on her wrists pulled tight across his throat. “Release me,” she said, “or I will kill him.”
Taylor had his Bravo inches from her head, brushing the fabric of her hood. Harrison and Hayes stayed a few feet back with their weapons raised. “Don’t be stupid,” said Harrison. “You know you can’t get out of here.”
She tugged on the handcuffs again and laced her fingers over Polk’s mouth and nose. “He will asphyxiate in two minutes if you do not place your weapons on the ground and give me the handcuff key.”
“Standard procedure for moving prisoners,” said Harrison. “The key’s never in transit, only at either end of the—”
“The key is in the left front pocket of your pants on a silver ring. Corporal Polk now has one minute forty-six seconds left to live.”
“You’re supposed to be one of the good guys,” said Hayes. “You’re not going to kill a soldier in the line of duty.”
“One minute thirty-three seconds.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Smith, shaking his head. “You’re not going to kill him, are you, Stealth?”
The cloaked woman lurched forward an inch, just enough to loosen the chain. Polk took a deep, wheezing breath. “No,” she said.
