Freedom glanced at Kennedy. “If they’re all dead,” she said, “it’s almost a quarter of our troops gone.”
“Can you still mount a defense? You must’ve planned for something like this, right?”
Freedom gave a sharp nod. “It’ll be difficult, but not impossible. First Sergeant,” he said to Kennedy, “operation Red Sand is in effect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Make sure your people understand they’re not fighting regular exes,” said St. George. “They’re fighting Legion. He’ll make plans of his own and react to what your people do. Or what they don’t do.”
Kennedy nodded and began to bark commands into her microphone.
Freedom looked at the hero and gave a quick nod to Franklin. “What else can you tell us about this Legion?”
“We beat him before by splitting his attention. He wasn’t experienced with his powers, so fighting on multiple fronts made him lose control and then we just focused on the man himself. It looks like his control may have gotten better, though.”
“Great,” muttered Franklin. He pushed up St. George’s sleeve.
“Stow it, sergeant.”
“Yes sir.” He pulled some disinfectant from a pouch and wiped the blood away from the wound. It was a ragged hole the size of a dime. “Shouldn’t’ve pulled that tooth out,” he muttered.
“The big problem, though,” said St. George, “is the ex-soldiers. Since he’s controlling them, he’s effectively got a thousand people on the base already. Double agents, guerillas, saboteurs, whatever you want to call them. He’s got a lot of them, but I bet they’re all going for simple goals. Even if he’s gotten better, he probably won’t risk splitting himself onto too many complex fronts.”
“Probably?”
The hero shrugged. “He’s still just a guy, and not a terribly bright one.”
Franklin mashed gauze on the bloody holes and wrapped the arm with white tape.
“Sergeant Monroe,” said Freedom, “take the rest of Eleven and clean out this building. We don’t want any surprises two or three hours from now. If it’s down, make sure it’s staying down.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” He bent down to the other twitching corpse and twisted its head around to face the floor. The body went limp.
“Jefferson, you’re with me. We need to secure the armory and make sure the perimeter holds,” continued the captain. “It’s going to be getting dark in about five hours and this situation needs to be stabilized before then.”
Sunlight poured in through the barracks door and blinded them all for a moment. So, said Zzzap, how are things on this side of the giant military deathtrap?
Freedom and a few of the soldiers glared at him.
“I want you to go with them to the armory,” said St. George. “Stay there and make sure they get everything they need.”
And then?
“We get the weapons, stop the exes, and then we go after Smith.”
Smith?
“He’s got Stealth. He’s trying to get away to a more secure base. She’s going to be his hostage to keep us all in line.”
Smith took her as a hostage? said Zzzap. Wow, talk about making a poor—
He froze and hung in the air for a moment, like a statue of light.
“Barry?”
I just want to be clear on this, said Zzzap. We need to get guns—lots of guns—and then rescue our ultra-calm leader who’s been captured by Agent Smith?
St. George sighed.
Oh, this is so going to rock!
Chapter 29
NOW
In the distance they could see the opening in the fence and the flash of weapons. The clatter of dead teeth echoed in the air, closer than it had been.
“I’ll help at the gate,” said St. George. “You get to the armory and do what you need to do.”
“We’ll join you there in ten minutes,” said Freedom. “Tell Staff Sergeant Pierce you’ve got my approval. If he asks, say you’re five by five. He’ll know what it means.”
Zzzap let out a buzzing laugh. St. George tried not to grin. “Got it.”
Freedom gave him a quick nod and sprinted off with Kennedy and Jefferson. The three of them were damned fast, the hero had to admit, even the one with the broken arm. It took them seconds to cover a hundred yards and vanish around a corner.
Watch your back, said Zzzap. Buffy references aside, I still don’t trust any of these guys.
“It’s not like your movies.”
Yeah, it’s going a lot worse so far. He flitted away after the soldiers.
St. George leaped into the air and came down in a cluster of exes stumbling through the middle fence. A sweep of his arms sent half of them sprawling and he snapped out a backhand that collapsed the skull of one more. Dozens of them shifted their awkward march, heading for him instead of into the base.
He grabbed a dead woman in tiger-striped camos and swung her into the crowd like a flail, battering one body against several. Her boots crushed a handful of chattering skulls before the shoulder he was holding pulled apart. He let the body’s momentum carry it off into the crowd. It knocked down another half-dozen exes as it soared away.
Off to his left, the head of an ex burst with the whine of a high-velocity round. The gunfire trailed off, and he heard shouts from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the soldiers looking at him.
“Don’t stop firing,” he shouted. “Don’t worry about me, just keep firing!”
An ex latched onto his wrist and tried to bury its teeth in his bicep. He flexed and cracked its jaw, then swung his elbow up to send it sprawling. Another one fell onto his back and he shrugged it off.
The snap and crack of bullets rose in the air around him again, matching the clack of teeth. One ex in a plaid shirt reached out for him and dropped when the top of its head vanished. The teeth of a dead man with a thick mustache snapped twice and then splintered away as a round tore through its mouth and out the top of its spine. A woman in a waitress uniform collapsed to the ground after the back of her head burst in a baseball-sized exit wound.
St. George spread his arms, caught a half-dozen exes, and marched away from the soldiers. The half-dozen caught four more, and another six got tangled in with those ten. By the time he reached the outer fence he was pushing close to forty of them. They flailed at his arms and neck and shoulders. Their fingers ran through his hair and over his scalp. One tried to snap its teeth on his cheek and pulled three of its incisors loose.
Just outside the fence line was a tall armored vehicle with a boat-like hull. It had part of the chainlink gate twisted beneath it. He got outside the boundary and threw the exes at the Guardian. Some of them crashed into the vehicle, others just stumbled back before they fell to the ground. More of the walking dead staggered around the vehicle and tripped over their fallen comrades.
The hero kicked a few bodies out of the way and managed to drag the outer gate about two-thirds shut. The chain drive on it snarled the whole way. He thought about forcing it farther but didn’t want to risk tearing the chainlink panel. He leaped back and did the same with the middle gate, but this one only went halfway.
“Guess we’re lucky those were already open,” said Pierce from behind him, “or that Guardian would’ve torn down all of them.” The sergeant had led the super soldiers into the fence line area while the rest of the men covered them. They moved through the bodies and paused at each one to ensure they were down for good.
St. George punched an ex making its way through the opening and it flew back into a steel post. “If this is the best luck we’re going to have, we’re in real trouble.”