Ex-Purgatory: A Novel

by Peter Clines

  Another swing of his signpost-axe, a little higher this time, and two skulls spun into the air. They cracked against the pavement as their bodies slumped and fell. St. George swung again, aimed it better, and took off four more heads. One of the dead things, a man with an Arab scarf draped around his shoulders, was a little shorter. The metal sign smashed through its skull at eye level. Its teeth snapped three more times before it collapsed.

  They passed a jeweler and a Christian Science reading room. A car had plowed into an overgrown tree. There was a skeletal body under the flattened front tire. On the opposite side of the street was a quartet of ragged pop-up tents and some cases with National Guard markings.

  “Looks like a checkpoint,” said Freedom. “We should look for supplies.”

  “Maybe on the way back,” said St. George said. “I don’t think we want to stop moving right now.”

  “But, sir, there could be—”

  “There will be nothing,” said Stealth. “The Westwood National Guard outpost was lost on July 27, 2009. Best estimates had it looted by August fourth. That was before the South Seventeens consolidated their territory to the east in Century City and looted the surrounding area.”

  Freedom grabbed an ex by the arm, twisted it around, and slammed it back into two others. The trio of zombies stumbled and fell. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s move on, then.”

  Half a block from the outpost, a pile of withered corpses dominated an intersection. St. George guessed there had to be at least two hundred of them. They all had head wounds. Mostly bullet holes, but a few caved-in skulls as well. The pile was marked off with bright orange cones and a handful of yellow sawhorses.

  He glanced back and saw Danielle shudder. She was fighting not to curl up in a ball. He could see it on her face.

  They passed a three-car collision and a row of stores with all the picture windows smashed. St. George put down another dozen exes with his signpost, and he was pretty sure Stealth and Freedom stopped as many between them. At Le Conte Avenue he glanced back at the group. “We’re about a third of the way to her dorm room,” he told them.

  Danielle frowned. “How do you know she’ll be there?”

  “I don’t,” he admitted. “I just don’t know where else to look.”

  Freedom threw a kick that crushed an ex’s rib cage. “More important, sir,” he said, “how do you know where her dorm room is?”

  “Relax,” said St. George. “She spent two weeks trying to get me to remember all this.”

  Stealth lunged forward and thrust with her staff. The tip smashed through a dead woman’s teeth and up through the roof of her mouth. The ex closed its jaws on the broomstick once, twitched, and fell over.

  As the body slumped, a breeze blew down the street. St. George heard a growl that grew into a roar. It took him a moment to recognize it. He looked up and saw Stealth focusing, trying to locate the sound.

  Danielle took another step forward.

  “Hang on,” he told her.

  A bus plowed through the intersection. Its brakes hissed once and then it moved on. A poster for KTLA Channel Five stretched across the side of the bus.

  A horn blasted behind them. A green Jetta was a foot from Freedom’s shins. The driver banged on the horn again and gestured them out of the street. It wasn’t a polite gesture. A few cars backed up behind him honked as well. The tail end of rush-hour traffic flowed around them while they stood in the street.

  They glanced at each other and St. George took a step toward the sidewalk. Stealth gazed at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting out of the street.”

  “It is not a real car.”

  “I know,” St. George said, “but it’s going to be easier to think without all the imaginary horns going off.”

  They stepped out of the lane into a parking space. The Jetta driver blared her horn again as she drove by. The rest were more concerned with making the next light.

  Freedom went to step up onto the sidewalk and Stealth grabbed his arm. A trio of men in suits walked toward them along the sidewalk. One was on a cell phone, the other two were talking.

  “They’re just people,” said Freedom.

  “No,” said Stealth. “They are exes we are being made to perceive as people.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The men got closer and St. George raised his signpost. They walked past without slowing. One of them glanced at St. George, then his gaze swept over to Stealth and her broomstick. They didn’t look back. The one on the phone swore as a teenager flew by on a skateboard. The teen didn’t even glance at the four heroes in the parking space.

  “If all the people are …” Danielle closed her eyes and snapped her fingers three times. “If they’re all exes, why aren’t they attacking us?”

  Another bus slowed and spat out a handful of people. They scattered in different directions. None of them glanced over at the heroes. A young woman in a UCLA shirt jogged past them, her headphones blaring. She glanced up at Freedom and smiled.

  “That,” said St. George, “is a good question.” He lowered the sign.

  “A better one,” said Stealth, “is why were we not attacked before?”

  Freedom glanced over his shoulder, back toward Wilshire. “Before what?”

  “Before regaining our awareness of the world,” she said. “If we have been wandering through Los Angeles for weeks under Smith’s influence, how are we still alive? St. George may have survived with his increased damage resistance, but the three of us have no such abilities. We should be dead.”

  “Cheery thought,” Danielle muttered.

  “She’s right, though,” said St. George. “Just because we don’t see them as zombies doesn’t mean they’d stop acting like them.”

  “Maybe we just got lucky.”

  Stealth shook her head.

  “There were about forty of those things around this intersection,” said Freedom. “I’d guess there’s close to twice as many people now, not counting the ones in cars.”

  “And there’s five times as many cars,” added Danielle. “Are they all just hallucinations or whatever?”

  “Let’s keep moving,” said St. George. He lowered the sign a little more, letting it hang level with his hip. “Same formation. Don’t let anyone get too close.”

  A crowd of students slid past them, heading onto campus. Most of them ignored the heroes. One looked at the signpost in St. George’s hands and grinned. He gave the hero a cheerful “Dude,” before continuing on his way.

  “Keep a safe distance from them,” said Stealth. “They may appear benign, but they could be attacking us.” She shifted the staff in her own hands. It stayed out away from her body and extended back to help shield Danielle.

  St. George led them past the medical plaza, then headed west. He glanced over at the facilities management building and wondered if Jarvis was there. At this time of day he’d just be finishing with all the new requests.

  Then he remembered that Jarvis had never worked on campus. It had been so many years, and the false memories were still crisp and clear. He remembered Jarvis—the real Jarvis—had joked about the Zombocalypse taking care of his unemployment problem.

  “George,” murmured Stealth.

  He glanced up and realized he’d let a trio of young women get close to them. Two women and a very effeminate young man, he realized a moment later. They glanced at St. George and the others, but kept walking. A female voice slipped back to them a beat later. “Did you see? That guy was carrying a street sign.”

  A man and woman in ROTC uniforms paused and snapped quick salutes to Freedom. He returned them automatically. They waited for him to go by and then continued on their way.

  As they passed the tennis courts, two young men in sweatshirts stared at Stealth and whispered to each other. One pulled out his phone and snapped a photograph. “What’s going on?” asked Freedom.

  “They recognize her,” St. George said.

  “How?”

 
“Before the uprising,” said Stealth, “I was considered a minor celebrity.”

  “And still are in this world, it would seem,” Freedom said.

  “This world that we’re imagining,” added Danielle.

  “Yes,” Stealth said. The edges of her lips twitched down and her brows furrowed.

  They went another ten feet and the world shifted.

  St. George blinked and the grass grew a foot. A construction site became a mass of rusted girders. Two nearby cars lost their windshields and faded from years in the sun. Another became the victim of a long-ago sideswipe. The sounds of the city vanished and were replaced by the white noise of clicking teeth.

  A handful of exes staggered in the street. Three dead men, two women, and two that weren’t recognizable as either. One was too thin and wore shapeless, genderless clothes. The other looked like it had been scalped, and most of its face had been torn off in the process.

  One of the dead women was closest. St. George shifted his grip and brought up the signpost. The first swing would crush the ex’s skull and put him in position to take out the next two. Out of the corner of his eye, St. George saw Freedom move to get between Danielle and the faceless thing.

  Then a jet flew by overhead and reality came crashing down on them again. The closest ex became a living woman with an oversized backpack. The parked cars were whole again. One tried to pull out and got honked at by a truck on the road.

  No, George corrected himself. Not reality. The illusion.

  “Goddammit,” muttered Danielle.

  The woman with the backpack gave St. George a frosty look. He realized he still had the signpost up and ready to swing. He lowered it as she marched past him. The sign scraped on the pavement.

  “Just so we’re all on the same page,” said Danielle, “everyone’s seeing a non-zombie world now, right?”

  “Correct,” said Stealth.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Freedom.

  “Yeah.” St. George looked over his shoulder. “Everyone good? We can keep moving?” Freedom and Danielle nodded.

  Stealth stared across the road at a man who looked like a young professor or teaching assistant. “Something wrong?” St. George asked her.

  “I am not sure,” she said. “I am forming a hypothesis, but I do not feel I have enough data to make a firm statement.”

  “Well, what are you thinking?”

  Stealth stared at the man for another moment.

  Then her phone rang.

  She pulled the cell from her pocket and looked at the screen. Then her thumb slid across the screen and she held the phone up. “You are on speakerphone,” she said.

  “Hey,” said Barry.

  Danielle’s eyes went wide. She mouthed something to St. George, the back half of which looked like know that voice.

  “How did you get this number?” asked Stealth.

  “You called me the other day, remember? I work with high-energy subatomic particles for a living and you think I can’t star-sixty-nine someone?”

  “This number is unlisted.”

  “Nothing’s really unlisted,” Barry said. “You’ve just got to know where the lists are. Speaking of which, even though we weren’t, are you going to tell me your name at some point?”

  “You do not know?”

  “I do, I’m just checking to see if you know.”

  “Is that an attempt at a joke?”

  “I guess it was, yeah.”

  Stealth looked at the cell for a moment. “My name is Karen Quilt,” she said. “You may remember me by the name Stealth.”

  The voice on the phone chuckled.

  “Something amuses you?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Did you know you’ve got the same name as a former Jeopardy! champion? I bet you hear that a lot.”

  “Not often,” she said. “Four minutes ago did you experience a reality shift?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Four minutes ago, did your view of the world change for twenty-six seconds and then revert back to normal? Did you see the undead we spoke of last night?”

  “No,” said Barry. “Maybe? Everybody always seems a little like the undead in baggage claim. Especially the TSA people.”

  “You’re at the airport?” asked St. George.

  “Yup. Which is why I called. Didn’t you say you were going to have a ride here for me, Miss Karen Quilt or maybe Stealth?”

  “I did.”

  “Did your guy take off without me or something, then? Took these idiots over half an hour to get me off the plane. You’d think they’d never dealt with a guy in a wheelchair before.”

  “You are looking for a thin man with glasses. He should have a white sign with your surname on it.”

  “Nope,” said Barry. “I’ve been looking for twenty minutes now. Wasn’t outside security or at baggage claim.”

  “You are certain?”

  “I’m in a wheelchair, not blind. Besides, I’ve always wanted to say, ‘Yes, I’m Mr. Burke,’ and get whisked away in a limo. He’s not here.”

  Stealth pressed her mouth into a line. “Hire a cab,” she told him. “Go to the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. Depending on traffic you should be there within the hour. I will cover the expense when you arrive.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Does that mean I don’t have time to do the Universal Studios tour?”

  Danielle bit back a snort, and St. George felt his lips twitch into a smile for a moment. Stealth said nothing.

  “Okay,” Barry said after a moment. “No jokes. Got it. I guess I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “You shall,” she said, and hung up the phone. She looked at George. “He does not seem to be taking the situation seriously.”

  “I think that’s kind of normal for him, isn’t it?”

  “He didn’t experience the shift,” said Freedom. “And he didn’t know you.”

  “No,” she said. “He did not.”

  “Maybe he’s just not up to speed,” said Danielle. “I mean, I think I’m eighty percent there, but I’m pretty sure there’s still some holes in my memory.”

  St. George looked at Stealth’s face. “Is it something else?”

  She looked at the phone, then at the street around them. Her brows furrowed again. “We agree that we are still in the real world,” she said. “Agent Smith has used his powers to affect our perceptions.”

  “Yeah,” said St. George. Danielle and Freedom nodded in agreement.

  “If that is so,” she said, “and this is all an illusion, how is Barry calling my cell phone?”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “BUT WE’VE ALL been using our cell phones,” said St. George. “I called Barry. I called you. I called …”

  “Maybe he’s using his powers,” said Danielle. “He’s got …” She closed her eyes for a moment and snapped her fingers again. “He’s got some sort of energy powers, right? He talks straight to walkie-talkies all the time, doesn’t he?”

  “Correct,” said Stealth. She held up the phone. “However, to transmit to a cell phone he would still require an active network to tap into. There has been no such thing for fifty-one months now.”

  “I remember that,” Danielle muttered. “The annoying habit of knowing everything.”

  “Also,” Stealth continued, ignoring them, “Barry cannot partially manifest his powers. If he is not Zzzap, he has no such abilities.”

  “And if he’s turned back into Zzzap,” said St. George, “why does he think he’s still in a wheelchair?”

  “Is it a cell phone when we switch over?” asked Danielle. She patted herself down. “Maybe you’re talking to him on a walkie. I mean, maybe we’ve all been using walkies.”

  Stealth shook her head. “If his mind is still confused it is possible …”

  “Ma’am, sir,” said Freedom, “perhaps this is a conversation we can continue in a more secure location? We don’t want to be trapped out in the open if there’s a longer shift.” As he spoke he stepped to stay between Danielle and an exhaust
ed jogger plodding along the sidewalk.

  “Agreed,” Stealth said. The phone vanished back into her pocket. She nodded to St. George. “Continue.”

  “We’re almost there.” He pointed ahead to a tall brick building. “That’s her dorm.”

  Madelyn’s roommate, Kathy, opened the door. She was dressed in baggy sweatpants and a loose tank top, but didn’t look like she’d been woken up. Her eyes widened when she saw George. Then her jaw dropped when she saw Stealth.

  “Oh my God,” she said. Her jaw pulled itself up and became a wide grin. “Oh my God.”

  St. George felt a kick in his own stomach. He hadn’t recognized her before. The last time he’d seen Banzai alive and without her mask had been almost five years ago, the morning of the day she’d died. They’d all met up to discuss strategy against the exes. She’d been dressed in her rainbow-colored karate uniform with her mask slung over her shoulder, standing next to Gorgon as they’d all studied a map of Los Angeles.

  “Hey,” he said, forcing the memories away. “Is Madelyn here?”

  “Oh my God,” said Kathy. Her eyes were still locked on Stealth.

  “How do you do,” said Stealth. She held out her hand. St. George could tell she was shaken, too, although she did a much better job of hiding it. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Is your roommate here?”

  “Oh my … yes. Yeah, she is.” She stared at the hand like she was both thrilled and terrified by it. Then she stepped back and pulled the door open. “Maddy, it’s for you.”

  “Who is it?”

  Kathy looked out again and noticed the wall of digital camo behind Stealth. Her gaze went up until she saw Freedom’s face. “It’s your friend,” said Kathy. “And Karen Quilt. And a giant.”