Ahhh. Didn’t think of that. Sorry.
She rested her hands on her knees. “I think I’m going to puke.” She glanced up at the titan. “What the hell are you doing in my armor? Are you Army?”
“Nope,” said the suit. “I’m the Driver. Maybe St. George told you about me?”
He said he’s from the Mount.
“The Mount? How’d he get here?”
“Well, y’see, I switched into the helicopter while we were loading the suit up yesterday morning. Then I managed to—”
He’s been babbling a lot. The wraith tilted his head at the armor then back to Danielle. You want him out?
“Hey, whoa,” said the titan. The metal fingers came up, spread wide. “Same team, bro. Same team!”
“I wouldn’t complain about it,” she said. “Then we need to figure out how to get me in—”
“Guys, seriously,” said the titan, “you don’t want to do anything rash, because—”
Check this out, said Zzzap. He pushed his palm forward. There was a crackle of static, a flash of light, and Cesar flew out of the back of the suit. He hit the wall of the lab building and collapsed to the dirt. Cerberus froze up like a statue.
“Whoa!” shouted Danielle. “How the hell did you do that?”
Something I’d been playing with. Opposite charges attract, like charges repel. So all I needed to do was match his frequency and—
“No, I mean how did you throw him out of the suit?”
Oh, said Zzzap. I thought we were on the same page. He wasn’t wearing the suit, he was in it, like a virus or static buildup or something.
She looked at the groggy youth. “So you’ve been inside the suit all this time?” Her brow furrowed. “You were in the suit while I was wearing it?”
“Look,” said Cesar, “this is a little weird for all of us, yeah, but—”
“On your knees,” bellowed the armored titan. It stomped into an offensive posture and raised its fists. Arcs of electricity raced across its knuckles as the stunners fired up. “On your knees now and put your hands behind your heads!”
“Yeah, tried to tell you,” Cesar muttered from the ground. “There’s another guy in there.”
* * *
They’d halted the dead at the front gate. And no one else had died. That was the best Sergeant Stewart could say.
Once St. George tied the gate shut with the signpost, they’d been able to get the exes under control. Ammunition was too low to get the upper hand, though. All the soldiers could do was break even, dropping the exes at about the same rate they were reaching the fence line.
Plus the gate was coming apart. Little by little. Under Legion’s command, the exes threw their massed weight right at the gap of St. George’s knot and the simple gate hinges were squeaking again and again. Once he even caught a few of the dead men and women clawing at one of the lower hinges. They were trying to pry apart the riveted metal.
When they noticed him staring, they’d all winked at him and leered.
Then Staff Sergeant Pierce had shown up with a squad of the Unbreakables to take control, and Stewart breathed a faint sigh of relief. If nothing else, the twin mantles of leadership and responsibility were lessened a bit.
The suppressive fire halted while the super-soldiers reinforced the gate with the sandbags from the machine gun pits. They tossed the fifty pound bags the way regular men would throw a beer to one another, even Pierce with his forearm in a splint. The bags piled up against the gate and held it steady. Withered arms clawed at them.
Then the gunfire began again and Pierce’s men added their own weapons to the noise. The Bravos cut exes apart with short, vicious bursts. Bodies were falling faster than they were arriving.
Stewart heard the roar of an engine behind him, and his confidence swelled again. The truck from the armory was here with fresh ammunition. In just a few minutes things were going to be under control.
It wasn’t a truck. Not even a jeep. It was one of the Guardians from the motor pool, building up speed fast. One soldier was lugging a case of ammo and was sucked under the vehicle’s wheels in a windmill of surprised, broken limbs.
The armored car roared past Stewart, aimed straight at St. George’s knot. He caught a quick glimpse of the driver. It was a grinning soldier with pale skin and a green box on the side of its head.
* * *
In the lobby of Barracks Eight, Truman, Franklin, and Monroe took turns pounding on St. George with their rifle stocks. They started on his back, and when he tried to get away Jefferson grabbed his leg and flipped him over. The metal stocks were nicked and dented where they’d hit his bones. He rolled to the side to dodge one of Truman’s blows. The rifle cracked the tile floor and the concrete beneath it.
Freedom had punched him once, right at the start. A big roundhouse punch in the jaw. If he’d been a regular man it would’ve snapped his neck. Since he’d fallen to the ground, Kennedy had kicked him once in the gut, and Monroe twice in the small of his back.
“Stay down, sir,” said Freedom. “We do not have direct orders to kill you but I do have that authorization if you do not surrender.”
The hero threw a punch from the ground that grazed Monroe’s jaw. The man staggered back, then charged in again with an angry glare. He drove his boot into St. George’s kidneys and the hero winced. “I’m not going to surrender to a bunch of bullies in uniform.”
Truman’s rifle hit his shoulder blade and he dropped to the floor again.
“For what it’s worth, sir,” said Freedom, “I wish it hadn’t come to this. I had a lot of respect for you.”
“Yeah, you seem really heartbroken.” He got the words out just before Kennedy’s knuckles connected with the back of his skull.
“I’m just following orders.”
“Orders?” Another punch struck his head.
“You’re to be detained, and then you and your companions will accompany us to a secure facility.”
“You’ve got something—” He whuffed out a cloud of smoke as someone drove a kick into his stomach. “You’ve got something else besides Yuma?”
“That we do, sir. The Air Force’s Groom Lake facility in Nevada. Agent Smith has decided it would be a safer location.”
St. George tried to raise his head and winced again. “And, what,” he said, “you’re just going to load us on a helicopter and fly us there?”
Freedom looked down at him. “That’s exactly what’s going to happen, sir. Stealth is already in handcuffs and there’s a Black Hawk prepping.”
“In that case, captain,” he said, “for what it’s worth, I’ve been—” He coughed a stream of smoke and fire as another kick connected with his gut.
“What was that, sir?”
He rolled onto his knees and brushed the rifles away with a sweep of his hand. “I said I’ve been faking it.”
They had a moment to look confused.
And then St. George’s backhand sent Truman through the far wall of the lobby.
* * *
“Gibbs,” said Danielle, “that’s you in there, isn’t it? We’re not the enemy.”
“Doctor Morris,” said the battlesuit, “please keep your hands up. Until I get orders otherwise, I am treating the three of you as hostiles.”
“On what grounds?”
“Hijacking,” said Gibbs. The titan turned its head to Cesar. The young man stood up and dusted himself off. “I’m sure Colonel Shelly and Captain Freedom will be interested to know you brought another super-powered person with you.”
We didn’t bring him with us, said Zzzap, gliding forward.
“Keep your distance, sir,” said the battlesuit. “This weaponry might not be able to hurt you, but I’m sure you don’t want any harm to come to your friends.”