Ex-Patriots e-2

by Peter Clines

  I was two yards down the hall when he called out to me. “Don’t exert yourself if you can avoid it,” he called out to me. “Stop if you feel any pain at all.”

  Asking if I was feeling any pain had almost become a joke with Doctor Sorensen. Once I’d been accepted into the program he’d explained most of the process to me. The hormone and steroid shots. The surgeries. I glazed over most of it, to be honest. It wasn’t anything I needed to understand, and I got the sense he was saying it the same way some officers will work through a prepared speech whether it’s still relevant or not. He had stressed how much it was going to hurt when my muscles started to develop. I remember Colonel Shelly had given another of his subtle smiles at that.

  I’d been serving in Afghanistan for seven months when, on a fine Wednesday morning in 2005, my squad was pinned down in a village between Farah and Shindand. One man was shot in the throat. Two took body shots in the sides that slipped past their armor. Another got shot in the thigh. It was deliberate. It forced us to leave him crippled and in the open, or to go after him. When a second round struck him in the shoulder I told the squad to lay down cover fire.

  I’m big, but I’d surprised people with how fast I could move long before I went through Sorensen’s process. That surprise and the cover fire threw off the snipers’ first three shots. The fourth one didn’t miss, and I felt a kick in the middle of my back that told me my body armor had saved my life.

  I never felt the fifth shot. In his report, Staff Sergeant Drake said there’d been a sound like a huge egg breaking and my helmet exploded on my head. I’d dropped in the dust, my head covered with blood, right next to the soldier I was trying to save. The rest of the squad fought off the snipers, lost two more men, and left me there for an hour before someone decided to make an obligatory check for my pulse.

  There are just so many times you can be “one of the only survivors” before people begin to feel uneasy around you.

  If I was a superstitious man, I’d’ve resigned my commission at the end of my Afghanistan tour. The thought did cross my mind, and I was going to be finishing that tour in the hospital anyway. But I knew better. The Army was where I was supposed to be and I was going to serve until I died. I had a duty to serve my country. The United States had fought a war against itself, spilled its own blood, so my great-great grandfather could be free. So I could have this proud name.

  Could I do any less for my country?

  Chapter 14

  NOW

  They brought Cerberus out in pieces. Each component was sealed in heavy wooden crates. A team of volunteers lugged them out with hand trucks and furniture dollies and rolled them down Avenue E to the Plaza lot. Danielle stood at the intersection of E and 3rd, reacting to every bump or rattle with a flurry of curses.

  “Ease up,” said St. George. “It’s packed solid. It’s not going to get damaged by any of this.”

  “I know, I know,” she sighed. “Sorry,” she shouted to the two men who acknowledged it with a wave. Two soldiers joined them and they hefted the crate up into the Black Hawk. An olive-drab case replaced it on the furniture dolly. The second wave of soldiers had brought medical supplies, some ammunition, and a variety of odds and ends. St. George had seen one case that seemed to be nothing more than boxes of candy bars.

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “If they’ve got half the resources John says they do out there, I’ll be able to give the armor a major overhaul. Implement a couple of ideas I’ve had.”

  He looked down E and saw Cesar and Lee bringing out one of the smaller crates. HELMET was stenciled on it in blue letters. The younger man shot him a sullen gaze as they got closer. “And?”

  “And what?”

  He tipped his head back toward the helicopter. “Are you coming back?”

  She followed his gaze. “Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know. I was talking with John last night. He thinks they might want the suit to stay with them. If it stays, I stay.”

  St. George’s forehead wrinkled at the news.

  “He’s not sure,” she added. “From what I gather the military’s spread so thin they’ll probably ask most of us to keep doing what we’ve been doing out here. You might be stuck with me.”

  He smiled. “It hasn’t been that bad so far.”

  “You haven’t been paying attention then,” she said. Her eyes snapped to the soldiers as they took the crate from Lee and Cesar. “Hey,” she called out. “Be gentle! That helmet cost more than that helicopter.”

  St. George laughed.

  “Hey,” said Smith. He walked over to them. Captain Freedom loomed behind him. “Did I miss something funny?”

  They shook their heads.

  “So,” Smith continued, “it looks like everything’s moving along. Did you guys decide who’s coming with us?”

  “I shall be accompanying you back to Yuma,” said Stealth. She’d appeared behind them in the shadows. “Your Colonel Shelly and I have much to discuss.”

  Smith nodded. “Excellent. I’m glad to have you with us.”

  “I am not with you yet,” said Stealth. “That is one of the points we shall be discussing. I dislike the idea of removing one of our most powerful assets from the Mount.”

  “The colonel isn’t about to leave you with weak defenses, ma’am,” said Freedom. “We’ll work something out.”

  Smith turned his gaze to St. George. “I wish you were coming with us.”

  “We’ve got a run scheduled for this afternoon,” said the hero. “We’re going down into Larchmont to clean out a bunch of the fruit trees people had in their yards. I’ll go with them and catch up with you later tonight.”

  Freedom glanced over at the scavengers loading a truck on the far side of the garden. “You’re making the civilians search for supplies, sir?”

  “We are not making them do anything,” said Stealth.

  “You’re at no risk,” the officer said to St. George. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to go alone?”

  He looked up at Freedom and gave a faint smile. “It would if there was some way for me to bring four or five hundred pounds of fruit back on my own,” he said. “It’s not like I can throw it all in a few grocery bags and carry two in each arm.”

  “I was led to believe you could carry at least three in each arm, sir.” Freedom’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faint glimmer in his eye as he said it.

  “Believe me,” said St. George, “no one goes out who doesn’t want to and we minimize risks wherever we can.”

  “So they’d like you to believe.”

  Christian stood a few feet away with her fists on her hips. Danielle recognized it as Gorgon’s sheriff pose. The councilwoman ignored the heroes and spoke directly to Smith. “These people have endangered our lives again and again and refused to give us any voice in how we govern our lives here. It’s been a fascist dictatorship, and I wanted to make sure the proper authorities knew about it.”

  St. George caught most of the sigh before it slipped out, but a wisp of smoke spiraled up from his nostrils. Danielle’s hands clenched into fists. Stealth grew very still, which he knew was a bad sign.

  Smith stepped forward and pulled Christian’s hand into his. “Agent Smith, Department of Homeland Security,” he said. “I’m helping the Army out as a government liaison. You must be one of the local community leaders. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  She returned the handshake after a moment of awkwardness and straightened up even more as she processed the torrent of words. “Christian Nguyen. I’ve been elected by a majority here to speak for the people of the Mount.”

  “A majority of the people in your districts doesn’t mean the majority of the people here,” scoffed Danielle.

  “Since your overlords refuse to hold democratic elections, we all have to make do,” said the older woman.

  “I’m very sorry to hear you’ve been having problems,” said Smith. He led her a few steps away from the heroe
s. “We expected to hear about some problems when we encountered survivors, but we’ll be wanting a full account of everything that’s been going on for the past few years.”

  “I’ll be glad to give one,” she said. “Under oath, even.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  She shot a suspicious glance back at the heroes. “I just want to make sure it’s clear who’s been doing what.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad to know there are people like you here in the Mount. People we’ll be able to depend on even when things are tough.” He paused. “I can depend on you when things get tough, can’t I, Christian?”

  She smiled. It crossed St. George’s mind it was the first honest, happy smile he’d ever seen on the woman’s face. “Of course you can,” she said. “I’m always honored to serve the people.”

  “Excellent,” he said. He had his practiced smile up again. “I’ll be in touch on my next trip out here. Do you mind if we finish making our arrangements for this trip? There are a few things we still need to iron out.”

  “Of course, Agent Smith.”

  He took her hand again and gave it a single shake. “Please, just call me John.”

  Christian beamed, and her eyes flashed with triumph. “Of course, John.” She squeezed his hand back and walked away.

  “I take it back,” St. George murmured to Danielle. “Maybe he’s not bad to have around after all.”

  A soldier stepped forward and gave Freedom a salute. “Ready to move out, sir.”

  “Excellent.” He gestured them all towards the helicopter.

  “Time for us to get strapped in,” said Smith.

  Danielle pulled St. George aside. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? All of us heading off and leaving the Mount like this?”

  “It’s not all of us,” he said. “You guys are going now. I’ll be here for another few hours, and Barry’ll probably be back before I leave. If all goes as planned, even if you decide to stay, Stealth and I will be back tomorrow night.”

  “And she’s okay with this?”

  “Yeah. Kind of weird, I know, but…” He shrugged.

  “Just feels weird,” she said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had to say any goodbyes.”

  He smiled and pushed her towards the Black Hawk. “Unless you guys run into Zzzap on the way,” he said, “or I see him here before I head out, I’ll see all of you out there later tonight.”

  Smith strapped himself in with some help from one of the soldiers. He twisted his head over to look out the cabin door and up at the sky. “I wonder if he’s made it out to Krypton yet?”

  “He left about half an hour ago,” said St. George, “so, yeah, everyone there’s probably sick of him by now.”

  * * *

  People of Krypton , shouted Zzzap in a deep, buzzing voice, I tell you our world is doomed. We must take refuge in the Phantom Zone!

  “Hard as it may be to believe, sir,” said the colonel, “we’ve heard all the Superman jokes you can think of.” Shelly was in his mid-to-late forties, and in great shape whatever age he was.

  Dammit, said the glowing figure. He hung in the air a good thirty feet above the helipad. Close to a dozen soldiers stood around the slab of concrete. What about the classics? Mysterious figure arrives at the Army base in the desert? The hum of his voice dropped an octave again. I come in peace. Take me to your leader.

  “Are you done, sir?”

  Tough crowd, he sighed. Yeah, I’m done. Thanks for humoring me.

  “Of course. On behalf of the United States Army and Project Krypton, I’d like to welcome you to the Yuma Proving Ground, sir. I’m Colonel Russell Shelly.”

  I’m Zzzap, but you probably knew that already. How do you want to do this?

  “We can do a tour around the base,” said Shelly. “Show you the perimeter, our supplies, anything you’d like to see, sir, that’s not classified or restricted for safety reasons. I thought you might like a late breakfast first. Nothing special, I’m afraid. I think we’ve got scrambled eggs and bacon, maybe some french toast. The coffee’s not too bad, though.”

  Did you say you have bacon and coffee? Colonel, you may have just become my favorite person on Earth.

  Shelly gave a polite smile. “Right this way, then, sir. I’ve got clothes and your other equipment waiting by my office.”

  It’s okay to say ‘wheelchair.’ It won’t come as a big surprise to me, really.

  “Sorry. I have to be honest, it caught me off guard when Smith told me.”

  Oh, believe me, the irony’s not lost on this end, either.

  A pair of soldiers waited for them by the building. Their eyes went wide at the sight of the gleaming wraith. They had a basic wheelchair with a seat made of faded leather. One held a pair of boots in his hand and a set of camos draped over his arm.

  Zzzap flitted down and tilted his head to the ground. I don’t suppose you have a blanket or something?

  The colonel glanced at the wide-eyed men. “We could get one. Is it important?”

  He sighed. Not really. I just hate crawling naked on hot pavement.

  “If we swing around to the other side of the building, sir, there’s a small lawn. It’s not much, but it’s—”

  Don’t worry about it. Can you set the clothes down there?

  The soldier did as asked. Zzzap settled closer to the ground, spreading his arms and legs wide. The brilliant wraith dimmed, the air settled, and the dry sound of a vacuum being filled echoed between the buildings. Barry dropped to the steaming tarmac with a thump.

  “Sonofabitch!”

  “Are you okay?”

  He rolled onto his side and reached for the clothes. “Scraped my hand,” he said. “Nothing I haven’t done before.” He dragged the pants across the ground and twisted his legs into them. He wrestled the sand-colored tee shirt over his head, waved off the boots, and hand-walked himself over to the wheelchair. The soldiers stepped forward and lifted him in a fireman’s carry for the last few feet, setting him down in the leather seat. One of them handed him the coat. It had been stripped of rank, but the name ZZZAP was on a velcro strip above the heart. He smiled.

  “Good, sir?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks for the assist. Nice jacket.” He draped it across his lap.

  “Will you need an escort, sir?”

  It took him a moment to understand they were offering to push the wheelchair. “That’d be nice, thanks.”

  They went up the ramp into the office building. It was spotless, and the scent of cleaning chemicals hung in the air. More than half the lights were out. Colonel Shelly pulled off his cap, revealing a wire-brush scalp. He followed Barry’s eyes up to the ceiling. “Power conservation,” he said. “We try to run as few lights as possible, even at night.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I appreciate your trusting us like this, sir,” he said.

  “We’ve all got to start somewhere,” said Barry. “And could you not use ‘sir’? It always makes me feel like my dad’s leaning over my shoulder.”

  “Force of habit, but I’ll do my best. What do you prefer?”

  “Barry. Mr. Burke if that’s too casual for you.”

  “I can make do with Mr. Burke. Agent Smith tells us you’ve got almost twenty-four thousand people out in Los Angeles.”

  “More or less.”

  An older man was waiting for them in the officer’s mess. His uncombed beard was a mess of gray and silver, and it looked like he’d slept in his clothes for a while. He ran a finger back and forth across the tabletop, like a blind man reading a Braille headline again and again.

  “This is Doctor Sorensen,” said Shelly. “He’s the scientific head of Project Krypton. Captain Freedom and the rest of the Unbreakables are the result of his work.”

  Barry held out his hand. “You must be very proud. They’re pretty amazing, from what I’ve seen. Not a lot of people can take on St. George mano-a-mano , y’know?”

  Sorensen looked up from the
table. His watery eyes met Barry’s and he reached out to take the hand. He moved in slow motion, as if every action needed hours of rehearsal time he hadn’t been given. “Hello,” he mumbled.

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  The older man moved his mouth a few times, starting half a dozen words, and then went back to examining the tablecloth.

  There was a small buffet set up for them. Bacon and eggs in one chafing dish, english muffins and french toast in another. Two large pots of coffee. The soldier guided the wheelchair along the table while Barry overfilled a plate. He shoved some food in his mouth while they moved.

  “Oh my God,” Barry said. “You don’t know how much you miss bacon until after the zombie apocalypse.”

  “We’re spoiled, I guess,” said Shelly. He and Sorensen followed behind the wheelchair with plates of their own. “The Army keeps these places well stocked, and even with the rationing we’ve set there’s still enough food here and in Yuma for another twenty-eight months or so.”

  They took places at a table. Shelly paused to say a silent grace and nodded for them to begin. Barry ate with his usual gusto while the colonel took quick, precise bites.

  Sorensen had a single scoop of scrambled eggs on his plate. He pushed them back and forth with the fork, still in slow motion. Every third or fourth push one of the tines would scrape like fingernails on a chalkboard. Barry glanced from the doctor to the colonel. The officer didn’t seem to register the older man’s behavior.

  “How long did it take you to get out here, Mr. Burke?” Colonel Shelly asked after a few minutes of eating. “You caused a sonic boom, didn’t you?”

  “About twenty minutes,” said Barry. He crunched down on another piece of bacon and let it sit on his tongue for a moment. “The sonic boom’s a bit of a trick, though.”

  “How so?”

  Sorensen interrupted by dropping his silverware. “Is your energy output related to caloric intake? Does your body begin to cannibalize its own muscle and bone mass after a certain point?”