by Peter Clines
She gave a lopsided shrug and one of the bra straps slipped off her shoulder. “I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out and watch a movie or something?”
“Or something?”
Her smile became a grin. “Well, I don’t know about you,” she said, dancing her fingers on his chest, “but I haven’t had a really good ‘or something’ in months now. We could skip the movie and go right to that. I wouldn’t have any complaints.”
He took her hand. “We agreed we weren’t going to do this anymore.”
“Yeah, and we haven’t,” she said. “But it’s been ages and we had an exciting day. I’m horny, I’m wearing the underwear you like, and you’re here instead of being …” She paused and looked him in the eyes. “With someone else.”
“Maybe this is my one night a week to sleep alone.”
“You’re a shitty liar.”
“Maybe I’m not up for it.”
“The George I knew was always up for it.” She peeled the tank off in one quick movement and slung it around his neck. “What do you say? Two or three times for old time’s sake?”
He reached up for her arms, grabbed her wrists. “Bee …”
“It’ll be our little secret.”
She pulled his head down, pressed herself against his body, and kissed him. For a second he let her, and then he straightened up and away. “We both know there aren’t any secrets from her.”
Lady Bee sighed. “Well,” she said, “looks like that moment’s passed, then.” She pulled the tank off his neck and wrestled it back over her striped hair. “You know you’re wasting your time, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She pushed her arms through and jerked the tank over her flat belly. “You’re never going to have any kind of relationship with her. Nothing normal and healthy, anyway.”
“That’s a little—”
“She’s the empress of all ice queens. If the exes vanished tomorrow she would, too. Back to her batcave, never to be seen again. And you know it.”
“You’re wrong.”
Bee shook her head. “She’s just like every other frigid bitch, holding the nice guy at arm’s length and getting him to do whatever she wants.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and headed for the stairs. “Good night, George.”
“G’night.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll try again in a few months.”
DANIELLE HAD PULLED the mattress off her bed months ago and set it against the wall under the all-purpose table. Once she’d blocked one side of the table with a small dresser, she could get something close to a good night’s sleep. She woke up aching from the concrete floor, but it beat lying awake in the cot all night and hearing imaginary teeth chattering in the corners of her workshop.
This morning someone was nudging her, and in her slumbering mind she wondered if it was a version of the dream where Nikolai was still alive and had gotten over his dead girlfriend. Then the nudges became prods, and after a few prods someone grabbed her exposed shoulder and shook. For a moment, in her half-awake state, she saw the looming dark form and thought an ex had latched on to her. She lashed out and the figure grabbed her clumsy backhand.
“Get dressed,” said Stealth. She released Danielle’s wrist. “We are needed at Four.”
Danielle threw off her covers. Even in the sweltering heat of a Los Angeles summer, she needed to feel a certain amount of weight over her to sleep. She crawled out from under the table and stood next to the hooded woman. “Where’s my crew?”
“I do not need your assistants. I need you at Four.”
“George, then? Someone’s got to help me get into the armor.” She nodded through the doorway at the half-assembled battlesuit standing in the workshop. “I can’t do it alone.”
“You do not need the Cerberus armor to come with me,” said Stealth. “Please put on whatever clothing you feel necessary. Time is of the essence.”
“Necessary for what?”
“Danielle, in one minute I am leaving,” said the cloaked woman. “You will be coming with me. What you are wearing at that point is of no consequence to me.”
Sixty seconds later Danielle tugged her shirt on as Stealth dragged her out of the workshop. The cloaked woman was like the villain in a slasher movie. Her pace never approached a run, or even a jog, but Danielle struggled to keep up.
It was barely dawn. A few last stars twinkled and faded in the steel-blue sky. “What the hell’s going on?” asked Danielle as she buttoned up her shirt.
“The Predator has returned,” said Stealth.
“Already?”
“An hour and a half ago.”
“What?” She brushed her hair out of her face. “Why didn’t Barry spot it sooner?”
“I do not know.”
“What did it do? Were they looking for us again?”
“This is why we are going to Four,” Stealth said.
There was a rush of wind and St. George landed just ahead of them at the entrance to Four. He wore full combat leathers with his sunglasses pushed up on his forehead.
“Oh, sure,” muttered Danielle, “you give him time to get into uniform.”
“It doesn’t take me an hour,” he said.
Zzzap lit up the inside of the converted stage from inside the electric chair. Took you people long enough, he said. This is why I keep insisting we need bat-poles.
Stealth walked to the cage. “Is it still circling the Mount?”
The brilliant wraith shook his head. It took off about fifteen minutes ago. It’s still in the area but I think it’s about fifty or sixty miles away.
“What were they doing?” asked St. George.
I checked out the information it was sending back to their base. Straight low-light video plus infrared imagery. Oh, right, yeah. And it listened in on a few walkie conversations. It had a good hour of watching us altogether.
“Are you sure of this?”
Pretty sure, yeah.
“Why did it take you so long to notice it?”
Well, they are passive scans and it kept a really high altitude this time. There wasn’t much to hear until it was right on top of us.
“Which was, by your estimates, seventy-five minutes ago.”
Yeah, sorry. I guess I was distracted.
St. George frowned. “Distracted by what?”
I was talking with someone. As I’ve mentioned several times, it’s boring as hell sitting in this ball all the time. Even with the awesome DVD collection.
“I was not aware of anyone else in Four this evening,” said the cloaked woman.
“Is it doing anything else?” asked Danielle. “The Predator?”
Nope. Nothing but navigational commands and some quick looks through the nose camera.
The heroes looked at each other. “Well,” said St. George, “I guess they’ve made their move.”
Stealth bowed her head. “Do you agree we should send Zzzap to investigate further?”
He nodded. So did Danielle. “We should wait until sunup, though,” said St. George. “That way you’ve got something to hide in front of.”
Lucky me.
“Sunrise is in twenty-three minutes,” said Stealth. “I will get the generator crews prepared. It may be wise to warn the guards, as well.”
“You want to do that?” asked Danielle. “If it is the military, they’re not going to like a bunch of nervous civilians taking potshots at them.”
“If it is not the military, I would prefer to be ready.”
Guys?
“Fine. There’s enough time to get me back in the armor, then,” she said.
“I’ll help with that,” said St. George.
“Good. I don’t think anyone on my crew wakes up before nine.”
Guys, said Zzzap, you don’t have time.
Stealth looked at him, then up. In the dead silence of the morning, they all heard the noise.
Four, maybe five helicopters. They just broke radio silence. Army, by
their encryption.
People woke up and dashed out of their homes at the thunderous sound of rotors. They clogged the streets and rooftops, pointing at a sight they thought they’d never see again. Some cheered. Some shrieked in fear.
St. George launched himself into the sky, fumbling his earpiece into place. He keyed the mic as he spun in the air.
“Who’s with me?”
“I’m here,” said Zzzap.
“Danielle?”
“Cerberus is searching for her assistants,” said Stealth. “She does not have a radio.”
“Who’s on the wall?” called St. George.
“This is Makana,” came the voice. “What the hell’s going on, boss?”
“Just stay calm, make sure none of your people have their fingers on the trigger,” ordered the hero. “We don’t want anyone shooting at a rescue party.”
“Copy that.”
Hanging in the air two hundred feet above the Mount, St. George counted five olive-drab helicopters coming toward him in a V formation. They were fast, tilted forward with rotors aimed in his direction. Three of them had huge miniguns mounted on their noses. He was bulletproof, but wasn’t sure if his skin could take a full-speed helicopter blade.
The hero waited until the last moment and then shifted in the air. He caught a quick glimpse of one of the pilots staring at him in dumbfounded amazement and the minigun turned to follow the stare. Then the roar of rotors pummeled him as the choppers thundered past on either side.
His ears rang for a few seconds and he realized Stealth was talking to him on his earpiece. He shook his head and keyed the mic. “What was that again?”
“Two UH-60A Black Hawk transports and three Apache gunships. Are you unharmed?”
He glanced down. She was already on the peak of the water tower, staring up at him. “Yeah, they missed me. I could use an aspirin, though.”
“Son of a bitch, that was close,” said Makana. He stared up at the predawn speck that was St. George. So did most of the gate guards. The helicopters weren’t the bright red-and-white rescue machines he’d dreamed of before coming to work. These were dark, vicious hunters.
One of the men on duty, a skinny guy named Matt, split his attention. He reached through the gate with his pike and jabbed an ex in the shoulder. “Doesn’t this guy look familiar to you?” It was a tall man with dark hair and a square jaw. The flesh was missing from one side of his skull and the coat sleeve on that side was frayed and shredded, as if the dead thing had been dragged along some coarse surface for miles.
They glanced at him. “Dude,” said a heavyset man with blond dreadlocks. “You’re thinking about points? Now?”
“I’m just saying,” said Matt, “I think this is somebody famous.”
“So what?” snapped Makana. He’d grabbed a set of binoculars from the guard shack and was trying to focus on the flying hero.
“If it’s someone famous, one of you guys needs to vouch for me.”
“Get your priorities straight,” said a skinny woman. She snatched the binoculars from Makana.
Danielle dashed through the workshop door just as the helicopters blasted through the air above the Mount. The Cerberus Battle Armor System still stood in the center of the floor, soaking up power through a thick cable. Its arms and back rested in special foam molds on the oversized work tables, and the armored head glared at her from its own spot. None of her crew was there.
“Come ON!” she snarled. She yanked off her shirt and kicked her pants away. She ran to the suit and up the short ladder standing behind it. Her hands gripped the armored shoulders and she lowered her own legs down into the titan’s. She leaned forward into position and felt the tiny pricks and tingles of the sensors as they settled against her body.
Any instant now, she knew, her six hand-picked, trained assistants would rush through the door. They would put her arms in place, seal her in the armor, and she’d be strong again. When they were in top form, they could do it in just over an hour.
No one came through the door.
Danielle shouted out a stream of curses that echoed around the workshop.
When they faded she was still alone.
“Goddammit,” she yelled, “somebody help me get back in the armor.”
She was so close to being safe she almost cried.
In the dim light St. George could just see the helicopters up over the Hollywood sign, swinging around to the east. “I think they’re coming around for another pass. Do you want me to—”
“No,” said Stealth.
“They just—”
“No one has been injured. That was not an attempted attack. They were caught off guard by the sight of you.”
“It’s not like they didn’t know we were out here.”
“It is one thing to know a flying man exists,” said Stealth. “It is quite a different thing to see him in person.”
“Put me in, coach,” said Barry’s voice. “I can do more good up there.”
“No.”
“But I can—”
“If the power were to go out just as a squadron of military helicopters arrived, it would cause chaos throughout the Mount. Maintain your position.”
The helicopters roared forward again. This time St. George stood his ground in the air, arms crossed over his chest. They crossed the miles between them in seconds. He was tensing in the air when they pulled up to hover a hundred or so yards away from him.
A full minute passed as the hero and the helicopters stared at each other two hundred feet above the Mount.
“They’re all talking about you,” said Barry over the earpiece. “Three of them are pretty sure you’re the Mighty Dragon and two think you’re somebody new. They’re not quite sure what to do.”
“Well,” said St. George, “let’s make sure they know who they’re dealing with, then.” He took in a quick breath and tasted a familiar sizzle at the back of his throat. He turned his head to the side and puffed it out as a fireball the size of a Volkswagen.
It made his point. Four of the helicopters split off. Three of them were the Apaches with miniguns. They circled in the air and fell back half a mile or so. St. George squinted down at the dark shape on top of the water tower. “Any idea what’s going on?”
“You would need to confirm from your position,” said Stealth, “but I believe they have retreated to just beyond the Big Wall.”
He looked down and tried to pick out streets in the predawn gloom. She was right. He could see the rough, uneven line of stacked cars running up Vine and across Beverly. “Good call,” he said. “Any idea why?”
“They are respecting our airspace,” she said.
“Our what?”
“ARE YOU THE MIGHTY DRAGON?”
The amplified voice echoed in the air for a moment. The lone Black Hawk had turned its side to St. George. A young-looking man in a dark suit waved to him from the open cabin door. He wore a bulky headset with cables that ran back into the helicopter.
“If someone asks if you’re a god,” said Barry’s voice, “you say yes.”
“It is a test of trust,” said Stealth. “You have demonstrated who you are. They wish you to confirm their beliefs.”
“You don’t have to talk me into it,” he told them. He cupped his hands to his mouth and tried shouting back, but he was pretty sure the people in the Black Hawk couldn’t hear him over the rotors. After a second attempt he gave an exaggerated nod. The man in the suit smiled.
“WITH YOUR PERMISSION, WE’D LIKE TO LAND AND SPEAK WITH YOU.”
He glanced down at the tower again. Stealth had vanished. “Thoughts?”
“Direct them to the Plaza parking lot,” said her voice in his ear. “I shall meet you there.”
St. George looked behind him and to the left. The Plaza lot was right by the Melrose gate, separated by a line of shrubs in heavy planters and some fencing. Because it was so close to the outside it had never been populated with tents or shanties like so many other spaces. He drifted th
rough the air toward it and pointed down at the open expanse.
The helicopter shifted in the air. “WE’RE GOING TO CALL IN THE OTHER BLACK HAWK TO SERVE AS A GUARD,” said the man in the suit. “JUST THE ONE. IS THAT OKAY WITH YOU?”
St. George gave another big nod. The man gave him another smile and a thumbs-up. The hero dropped down a hundred feet or so and glided over to hover near the lot. The helicopter swung in a low arc to place itself over the wide square of pavement. The air thumped as another craft moved forward to hang high above the landing zone. St. George saw a handful of soldiers in full battle gear looking at him from the second Black Hawk’s cabin doors.
He drifted down to meet the man in the suit.
“I’m telling you,” said Matt, “it’s that guy from that space cowboy show that was on a couple of years ago.” He jabbed the dead man again. “You can’t see that?”
The other gate guards ignored him. Even the exes at the gate seemed distracted by the roar of the landing helicopter. Some of them were reaching up, as if their bony fingers could pluck the vehicle from the air.
The rail-thin woman glanced at Makana. “Who do you think it is?”
He shrugged. “Army, maybe. Or the Marines.”
“It’s the Army,” said Matt, glancing back from the gate. “Check out the markings.”
Makana shrugged again. “If you say so.”
“Is anyone going to look at this ex? I’m telling you, it’s whatshisface. Nathan something.”
“Dude, whatever,” said the dreadlocked man. He gave the zombie a quick look. “Yeah, it’s probably him.”
“Sweet.”
They all turned their attention back to the helicopter as it settled on the pavement. Behind them, Matt pulled out his pistol. He took it in both hands and lined up his shot.
The Black Hawk cut its engines. The noise level dropped as the long rotors slowed their relentless slashing at the air.
St. George dropped to the ground on the far side of the lot. Two soldiers on board trained their rifles on him and two more looked out the far door. Their weapons were huge things with dictionary-sized boxes mounted on them.
The man in the suit wrestled with his harness. Then he fought with it. One of the soldiers reached over and flicked something. The straps dropped away and the man almost fell out of his seat. He caught himself and made it look as if he was climbing down.
