So I had to put a bit more thought into getting rid of the troublesome super-soldiers. The ones whose morals or sense of duty were too strong. But it wasn’t that hard. After all, they’ll do or believe anything I tell them. I can make them think their vehicle’s going to run out of gas. Or they should run full-speed into a mob of exes when the smart thing to do is to sit tight. Or that they should put a gun in their mouth.
Now, though, it looks like I might get the best of both worlds. The heroes are alive out in Los Angeles, and they’ve got a pile of civilians with them. Hell, the Cerberus suit might even still be out there somewhere. At first Shelly was all for letting them stay self-governed and alone, but a quick Q and A changed his mind for him. So now a team’s heading out to welcome them back to the United States of America. I’ll ask if I can tag along, too. In an advisory position, of course.
After all, what do you get when you’re the ultimate power behind the throne?
You get ultimate power.
Chapter 27
NOW
There were, by Specialist MacLeod’s guesstimate, about a thousand exes around the Krypton fence. He was good at guesstimates. Not even three years ago he’d worked the produce department at the Albertsons on West 24th where he’d amazed coworkers with the ability to put a number to avocados on an endcap or jalapenos in a bin. Since he’d signed up, he was still amazing people, but now it was spent brass on the firing range or zombies at the fence.
A thousand was more than usual, but not by a huge amount. A lot of them seemed to be stumbling across the desert these past few days and joining the mobs at the chainlink. The open space muffled their chattering teeth, but not by much.
Still, it was quieter up in a watchtower than down on the ground. Morning run around the perimeter always creeped him out. A lot of the dead things at the fence were wearing the same uniform he was, and he didn’t like to see it up close. Heck, the ex-soldiers walking the perimeter were bad enough.
His watch ended at fourteen-hundred. Fifteen more minutes and he was off duty. Pulling a shift alone sucked and he couldn’t wait until it was over.
He looked along the north side of the fence and gave a wave to D.B. over at the next tower. He was stuck with a solitary shift, too. The soldier waved back and MacLeod wandered across his tower’s small deck to look down at the gates. Three layers of steel pipe and chainlink between him and the dead.
Movement made him glance back into the base. A figure was wobbling across the open space between the gate and the helipad. At first MacLeod thought the back and forth gait might mean it was First Sergeant Kennedy, but just as quick he realized it was more of a stagger than a pleasant sway. He lifted his binoculars and confirmed one of the ex-soldiers was heading for the gate.
He picked up the tower’s handset and punched in the extension for the zombie handlers. “Short Bus, this is Tower two,” he said, “I think one of your kids is skipping class. You know anything about it?”
“Negative, Tower. Do we have a dead Nest?”
“Don’t know. Doesn’t seem to be feral, just wandering.”
“Copy. Someone probably gave it a vague order and now it’s trying to walk to Washington or something. I’ll send somebody out to retrieve it.”
“Copy that, Short Bus.”
Below him the ex had smacked into the inside fence and was still trying to walk through it. The zombie tilted and slid along the chainlink. It swayed as its head and shoulders slapped the fence again and again.
MacLeod sighed and wished he had a cigarette. He looked west and saw more figures dotting the horizon. Damn, there were a lot of exes today. He wondered what made them all wander in the same direction.
Over the chatter of teeth he heard a faint beep. Then two more. Then a fourth and fifth. He looked back down to the gate.
The lone ex was at the keypad for the gate controls. One finger from each hand stuck out. It stabbed at the keys with quick, precise movements.
It took MacLeod a few seconds to register what he was seeing. By then the red lights had started to flash. He saw movement between the fences as soldiers ran to safety. The exes outside the fence lumbered toward the gate with far too much purpose. Their teeth had stopped chattering. After two years of listening to the click-click-click of enamel he thought nothing could be more unnerving. A hiss filed the air, a sucking noise, and he realized they were breathing. A thousand exes were pulling air into their shriveled lungs.
When they spoke, it was in one voice.
“CALL ME LEGION,” roared the exes, “FOR I AM MANY.”
Their leathery voices echoed across the desert plains and between the buildings of Krypton and broke down into a dry laughter.
* * *
“It’s a nine-foot-tall, red-white-and-blue robot built like a linebacker,” growled St. George. “Where the hell did it go?”
After watching a dozen or so soldiers file out after the battlesuit, Sorensen had asked to be left at the workshop. He seemed fine with being left behind, and said he’d try to contact Freedom or Smith through normal channels. St. George and Zzzap had returned to the skies to hunt down whoever was wearing the Cerberus battle armor.
Invisibility field? said Zzzap.
“I think if Danielle could turn invisible, she would’ve mentioned it before now.”
Yeah, but that isn’t Danielle.
Legion’s roar echoed up from the base below them. The two heroes looked at each other.
“That’s that,” said St. George. “We’re out of time.”
Joy.
“Fly the perimeter, make sure there aren’t any gates or openings at risk. Keep an eye out for Stealth, Danielle, or the Cerberus suit. Burn any ex you find.”
On it. You?
“I’ll take the main gate. I’m willing to bet he goes for the obvious choice again.”
Zzzap nodded. Grab a radio if you can find one. I’ll be listening for you.
They split up. St. George headed south for the base’s entrance. He was a few hundred yards away when he saw muzzle flashes and the echo of gunshots reached him. He dropped to the ground and his boots scraped the concrete.
One man, a specialist with MACLEOD on his coat, jabbed at a control panel again and again. The ex laying at his feet was missing most of its skull. The soldier slapped the box, entered the code once more, and threw a panicked glance at the gate.
The three chainlink gates had only opened a few feet, but it was enough. Now they were crammed with bodies as exes pushed and heaved at the gate. At least a dozen blocked the innermost gate from closing, and more clogged each opening past that. The motors made a grinding noise over the chattering of teeth.
A few dozen soldiers—the less-experienced civilian ones, the hero realized—were at the gates. They beat at exes with rifle butts and tried to force them back. A few fired close-range bursts, but most of them were too panicked to aim for the head. Their bullets tore off arms and blew holes in chests. Less than half the ones that went down stayed down, and many of them fell inside the gate.
“Back off,” shouted St. George. “Give yourselves room to shoot.”
The hero pushed between two soldiers and put his heel through a teenage ex’s skull as it crawled along the ground. He grabbed a dead man wearing a Sam’s Club vest and threw the zombie up and over the fences. It cleared the first two and hooked a leg on the last one as it descended. It hung there and flailed in slow motion.
All at once the exes stopped chattering. They looked at the hero advancing on the gate and grinned. “DRAGON MAN,” they said. “NOT GOING TO SAVE THE DAY THIS TIME, ESSE .”
St. George brought his fists down like hammers and shattered two skulls, then swung them out to break two more. The dead things pushed at the fence line. Close to fifty of them threw their weight at the innermost gate.