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 five 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 pre-dawn 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 of his head. 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 through 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.
The two soldiers facing St. George tensed and he saw one of the gun barrels shift off to his left. “U.S. Army,” said Stealth. She was a few steps behind him. “Their weapons appear to be M240Bs with a modified ammunition case and larger heat shields.”
“Yeah,” said St. George. He cleared his throat. “I though they looked different.”
“It is classified as an infantry medium machine gun,” she said. “It is unusual for an entire squad to be armed with it because of its weight. Each one weighs over thirty pounds with ammunition.”
“They don’t seem to be having any trouble with them.”
“Hello,” shouted the man in the suit. He stood on the pavement by the Black Hawk. The soldiers had moved forward, still sheltered by the helicopter’s armor but still flanking the man. “I’m John. It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” called back St. George.
“Mind if I come a little closer?”
“Not at all.”
“What if we meet halfway?”
St. George gave a nod. “That’d be fine.”
He could feel Stealth’s glare on him. “You do not need to agree to his every request,” she said.
“Take it easy,” he said, taking a few steps forward.
The gunshot rang out and echoed between the buildings.
One of the soldiers lunged at the man named John and carried him to the ground. The other one dropped to his knee and focused his oversized weapon at St. George. Two more soldiers had appeared, weapons aimed at the heroes. They shouted short, clipped orders back and forth through the helicopter’s open doors.
“What did you guys do out there?” Barry asked over the earpiece. “Is someone shooting?”
St. George looked back at Melrose. Makana and one of the other guards were wrestling a skinny man to the ground. The hero knew what had happened. “Screw up,” he said. “Big screw up.”