Ex-Heroes, Peter Clines [reading like a writer txt] 📗

ex was less than ten feet away. Cerberus realized the woman wasn’t wearing a black bra, but a whole lingerie ensemble under her clothes. A corset or merry widow or some such thing she’d never bothered to learn the name of. Its mouth was glossy with red lipstick.

“Someone had hopes for their last night.” The towering battlesuit coughed out a grim laugh. “Guess you didn’t get eaten the way you wanted, eh?”

She reached out and set one armored gauntlet on the ex’s shoulder. The other one came down on its blond head, the huge fingers wrapping around it. Her wrists flexed, the ex’s skull came away from its crooked neck with a sound like dry wood, and the body slumped to the ground.

Cerberus held the blond head out at arm’s length, letting the black fluid leak out of it while it snapped its jaws at her. When it stopped draining, she tossed it down the road. Her targeting software tracked every bounce, turn, and spin.

“All clear,” she called out over her radio. “Bring it around the corner.”

David pushed the apartment door open with his foot and counted to five. He stomped his foot a few times, then counted to five again. Rifle up, he led them into the third apartment. Billie was right behind him with her shotgun, and Ty brought up the rear after double-checking the hallway was clear.

They looked around the corner to the kitchen. Billie banged on the bathroom door a few times, and Ty did the same with the bedroom.

Something thudded against the bedroom door.

“Got one,” he called.

“I’m at the door,” said David.

“Got your back,” said Billie. She raised the shotgun.

Ty kicked the door hard and felt it slap the dead weight when the latch popped. He hit it again and it banged open. The ex was an older man with a Hawaiian shirt. Black pants and striped boxers gathered at its ankles. It stumbled back for a moment and then wiggled toward them.

“Oh, jeez,” Billie said, biting back a laugh. She pointed to the nightstand where a pair of dentures sat in a glass of cloudy water. “It’s toothless.”

Ty put his rifle out at arm’s length and braced the barrel against its forehead. The stocking feet shuffled out from under it and the ex tilted back to crash against the floor. As it twisted he walked over and put a round through its temple. The corpse went limp.

Cerberus barked from their walkies. “Who fired?”

“It’s Ty. We had one ex. It’s down.”

“Copy that.”

David’s voice echoed from the living room. “We clear now?”

His partners nodded. “Clear,” agreed Ty. He glanced from the ex to Billie. “Poor bastard died getting dressed.”

“Bad enough being the living dead.” She smirked and held her fist out to him. “If I come back, promise me you’ll get my pants on.”

He rapped her knuckles. “We’ll see.”

She yanked open the bathroom drawers with her free hand. Ty went back to the kitchen and pulled open the first set of cabinets. “Score!” he crowed. “First one opened, not even trying.” He leaned from the kitchen and held out half a bottle of Captain Morgan rum.

“Nice.”

“Whatcha got?” asked Billie from the bathroom.

“Booze,” said David.

“Sweet. Epsom salts are medicine, right?”

“Yep,” said David. “Grab it.”

“Couple cans of soup,” said Ty, “some ramen, half a box of Bisquick. Not much else.” He held up the half-filled canvas bag.

David looked at the box. “Can Bisquick go bad?”

“I don’t know. The date’s still good.”

St. George twisted another bolt out of the concrete. The rust and paint made them slip a lot, but if he squeezed hard enough he could work them loose. It got high enough to get his fingers under and he yanked it free of the rooftop. The last solar panel shuddered for a moment as he tossed the bolt over by the air vent.

He paused for a quick glance down below. The street was still clear. Ilya was strapping down the panel that had come down ten minutes earlier. Big Red had seven of them so far, wedged in alongside scavenged bins and boxes.

The hero attacked the last bolt and a minute later the solar panel swung backward like a drunk. “Ready with the next one,” he shouted. “You clear down there?”

“Ready and waiting,” called Ilya. He pulled the ratchet strap he was working on tight, swung his rifle a little farther behind his back, and shot a thumbs-up toward the rooftop.

The hero hefted the panel in both hands and hopped off the rooftop. He soared down to the truck bed, Ilya grabbed the panel for balance, and they set it down. Barry shifted on his pile of blankets and muttered in their general direction.

“Two more up on the next roof,” said St. George.

Ilya nodded. “Any idea who’s getting these?”

He shook his head. “I think one of the East Central stages. I’m sure Stealth has it planned out.”

“ ’Course she does.” Ilya stretched another ratchet strap out and hooked it to a support.

St. George looked out at the street. “Still good?”

“Yeah. Nothing for four or five blocks.”

Jarvis and Andy walked up to the truck, each holding a cardboard box packed with cans while Lee covered them. “Looks like somebody’s granddad planned for World War Three,” he said. “A bunch of Korean War stuff and there’s at least two more loads of stuff like this in the duplex over there. A few cases of thirty-aught, too.”

“You guys are just finding all the fun stuff today,” said Ilya.

St. George flipped a can of turkey chili in his hand and slotted it back into the case. “Any sign of what happened to Grandpa?”

Andy shook his head while they slid the boxes to the back of the truck. “Back door’s off its hinges,” he said, “some blood by the garage. No bodies. Either they ate every inch of him or he walked away.”

“One way or another,” added Lee.

“Get it all,” said the hero, “but take your time. He might be wandering around there somewhere.”

“Him and a couple thousand others,”