“No way. We go together.”
“I can manage without you.”
“Maybe. But the Mount can’t afford to lose you, either.” He held out his hand. “You’re a pretty valuable asset, too.”
She looked at him for just a moment with the faint tilt of her head that meant she was thinking. Then she grabbed his hand with both of hers.
St. George leaped into the air, dragging her up behind him. He swung his arm and Stealth flew through the air to land on the rooftops across the street. She took off running and he soared after her.
* * * *
Gorgon stood between Christian Nguyen and the trucks. Christian stood between him and the crowd. Harry the driver stood near her left shoulder, Diamint by her right, and almost two hundred people behind her.
“You can’t tell us what to do,” she snapped. “No one elected you. No one voted for you. If we want to leave, you have no authority to stop us.”
“I don’t,” he agreed, “but I’ve got a responsibility to keep you safe. Even when you don’t want me to.”
She laughed. “We’ve all seen your idea of safe,” she sneered. “We’re surrounded by monsters and someone dies every week.”
“And you think there’s somewhere better out there? You think Burbank is fine and we’re just keeping it secret?”
“That’s for us to find out,” said Diamint. “None of us came here to die.”
“No one is going to die!”
“The Seventeens are all exes now!”
“We’re supposed to be safe,” yelled a woman. “St. George said it would be safe here.”
“You are safe,” Gorgon shouted.
“The Mount’s already surrounded!”
“You’re not fooling anyone,” yelled Christian. “We’re just cannon fodder to you. You’re going to use us to cover your own escape! You’re going to leave us here to die!”
The crowd tilted and became a mob.
“We’re taking the trucks. That’s that.” The heavyset driver stepped forward with his fists clenched.
Gorgon lifted a warning finger. “Don’t try it, Harry.”
Harry tried it and ended up on his back with a bleeding nose. A blond man made a run for the trucks and Gorgon backhanded him into the mob. Someone deeper in raised a pistol.
“You can’t stop us all,” Christian shrieked, and her face dropped as the words left her mouth.
His goggles irised open and he left them open. He felt dozens and dozens of eyes lock onto his. The strength crashed over him like a wave, every muscle in his body spasmed, and his nerves buzzed with pins and needles like they’d been asleep for days.
Tier six, he thought. A solid tier six.
Over seventy people dropped. Their legs folded, their necks lolled, and they fell with their eyes still locked on his. He was pleased to see Christian was one of them. She was going to have a great bruise on the side of her head.
“There’s too much going on to deal with this right now,” he bellowed. The lenses snapped shut. “You all need to go back to your homes and make sure the buildings are secure. Those of you who can still walk need to help those who can’t.”
Their eyes went skyward and a murmur passed through the crowd.
St. George dropped down to the pavement. Except for a pair of shredded jeans he was mostly naked, and it was obvious he was hoping no one would notice. His exposed skin was covered with bruises and welts.
The hero looked at Gorgon but spoke to the crowd. “What’s going on?”
“Just explaining to these folks you were coming back from your mission as soon as possible.”
“There was doubt?”
“There was.” Under his breath Gorgon added, “You look like you got the shit beat out of you.”
St. George bounced his eyebrows in agreement and turned to the crowd. His eyes flitted between the people slumped on the ground and the ones still standing. “Gorgon’s right. Everybody needs to calm down,” he said. “I’m sure things have been scary here, but it’s going to get worse if everyone starts panicking and doing crazy things.”
A voice shouted from the back of the crowd. “The exes spoke!” It launched a wave of cries and questions.
“But the Seventeens—”
“How are they—”
“The exes said—”
“What if they—”
St. George held up his hands until they quieted down. “I know there’s a bunch of creepy stuff going on,” he said, “but you have to believe me. There is nowhere in this city safer than right here, right now.”
Stealth stepped out of the shadows behind some civilians and they shrieked. “St. George is telling you the truth,” she said. “Return to your homes, protect your loved ones, and we shall protect all of you.”
The mob was just a crowd now, and the crowd broke apart. People helped Gorgon’s victims to their feet and carried the ones that couldn’t walk.
“Make sure all the stage entrances are locked,” called St. George. He helped Christian up and ignored the unsteady glare she shot at him. “Tonight you’re in or you’re out, people.”
As they scattered Stealth pulled the camera from her belt and summoned an image. St. George caught a glimpse of the monstrous ex, tight enough to make out the cross tattoo on its head. “This being seems to have some sort of history with you,” she told Gorgon, handing him the camera. “He mentioned you by name several times.”
Gorgon pondered the distorted face for a moment and a grim smile formed under his goggles. “Well, fuck me,” he said. “I guess he found his gamma rays after all.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah.” He handed the camera back. “That, my friends, is Rodney Casares, top enforcer for the SS. We’ve got grudges that go way back.”
St. George glanced at the picture again before the camera went dark. “That’s what you wanted to get back here for?”
“No,” she said. “That was a confirmation. Gorgon, summon every guard, scavenger, and volunteer you can. Issue extra ammunition and prepare the walls for a full assault. Then meet us in the lobby of Roddenberry in fifteen minutes.”
She gestured at St. George to follow her.
* * * *
Josh Garcetti checked on his latest patient, an appendicitis case. She’d come in on her own, he’d pulled out the offending organ, and now she was asleep. Her stitches were clean and tight, no seepage at all. He tried not to dwell on the fact that at one time he could’ve repaired her without a single incision.
He made a few quick marks on her chart, stepped out to the nurses’ station, and made another set of notes on the night log. Then he turned to the cabinets and found himself inches from Stealth.
He stumbled back and the move yanked his withered hand out of its pocket. “Jesus,” he snapped. “Do you have to pop out of nowhere like that?”
The cloaked woman said nothing.
Footsteps made him turn and St. George stepped in from the hallway. He was bare-chested and covered with bruises.
“George,” Josh said with a nod. “What happened to you? What the hell’s going on?”
“When we were discussing the recon mission,” said Stealth, “you said you have had the virus hanging over you for two years. You were bitten less than fifteen months ago.”
He blinked twice, then a third time. “That all? Feels like a hell of a lot longer. Sorry I don’t have a computerlike mind like you.” He shrugged and repocketed his dead hand. “Is that everything? Mr. Willis would love to get a few Vicodin so he can sleep.”
Her feet shifted and she was between Josh and the cabinet.
He sighed and pointed at a row of bottles. “Do you mind?”
“The first definite sighting of an ex-human,” she continued, “was twenty-two months ago. An unidentified woman assaulted a group of Seventeens in a parking lot. The attack which infected Rodney Casares.”
Josh shrugged again, but his angry eyes flitted between the two heroes. St. George realized his hands had rolled themselves into fists.
Stealth still hadn’t moved. She was tense but fluid. She was confident.