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

for the people they could not reach.

“Well,” he said, “that didn’t seem at all suspicious.”

She stood up from the ledge. “It is apparent something is altering the behavior of exes across the city,” she said. “Are you ready to move on? We need to reach the Seventeens’ territory at least two hours before dawn.”

He tugged the backpack over his shoulders. “We’ll be fine.”

Stealth nodded and hurled herself across the rooftop, leaping up onto the next building. St. George threw himself into the air after her.

The exes watched them go.

Gorgon walked up Avenue C into the North-by-Northwest area. The name had started as a joke and stuck. Now the residents used it with pride.

He cast a long, fuzzy shadow in the streetlights. As it always did, the mental image of an old western flashed through his mind, the sheriff’s shadow stretching up Main Street to some gunslinger’s boots.

Near the edges of New York Street a figure waved to him from a small group. The bearded man, Richard-something. North-by-Northwest was his area. He stepped away from his group and toward Gorgon.

“What’s up?”

“Do you have a moment?”

“Sure.”

The bearded man gave a faint nod and took another half step away from the other conversation. The men kept talking, but their eyes followed the district leader and the hero. “There were a lot of rumors flying over dinner,” Richard said. He twisted the big ring he wore on his middle finger. “I was hoping you could put them to rest.”

“I guess that depends on what they are,” said the hero.

The older man nodded. “Is it true you found some exes who can talk?”

Behind his wide goggles, Gorgon rolled his eyes and gave a silent sigh. The news hadn’t taken long to get out at all. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s been floating around since Big Red got back yesterday. One of the men said it was a talking ex that killed Tyler O’Neill.”

“Yeah, see … that’s how rumors go crazy and why you shouldn’t talk about stuff you don’t know anything about.” He swung the duster back and set his fists against his hips. The sheriff pose. “Ty was killed by the Seventeens. Regular punks using regular weapons. Doctor Connolly could confirm that if anyone bothered to ask her.”

“We tried. She and Doctor Garcetti said Stealth asked them not to discuss it.”

Gorgon closed his eyes and thought of a few choice profanities. “Well, I can. He died of a gunshot wound to the throat. He bled out in under two minutes. You can look in the back of Big Red for the stains.”

The bearded man shivered and one of the ones lurking in the background stepped forward. “But there was an ex there. I’ve heard from a couple people there was.”

Another silent swear or three. “Yes. Yes, there was. You’re … Mr. Diamond?”

“Daimint. I run the leatherworks.”

“Right, of course. Sorry.”

“So the exes can talk now? Is that new?”

“We don’t think they can all talk. Just some of them.”

“Did you say exes can talk now?” echoed a woman. She dragged her husband over with her. Another couple followed them.

“They found a talking ex last night.”

“You mean they’re intelligent?”

“If they can talk, I’d guess so.”

“Holy shit,” said a newcomer, “what if we’ve been murdering them?”

“Hey, if it’s us or them, I say—”

“PEOPLE!” Gorgon punctuated the bellow with a quick snap of his lenses. He saw half a dozen people tremble and felt the faint kick of borrowed strength. The scattered conversation vanished.

“Here are the facts, to the best of my knowledge.” He threw a victory sign up for them all to see. “We have found two exes that appear to be intelligent. That’s it. Two, out of five million here in Los Angeles alone. We’re not even sure they’re real exes. It may be a trick. All of us standing here know this has never been seen before. It’s something new we’re all trying to figure out.”

A few of them looked at him but most of them examined their feet or the pavement.

“The medical team’s going to examine our prisoner tomorrow. Once they get any answers, you know we’ll get them to you. The safety of everyone here is always the priority. There’s no point getting worked up over this, okay?”

There were a few halfhearted nods and grunts. The woman who had spoken before cleared her throat. “So there really are smart exes?”

“Yes,” he said. “And here’s something else—neither of them tried to bite anyone. I’ve talked to the one here in the cell. So has Stealth. It just stood there and talked with us. St. George, Cerberus, a bunch of the team that was out the other day, they all talked to the one out there. No attacks.”

“St. George got shot by the one out there. I’m trying to repair his coat.” This from Daimint.

“It shot him, yeah,” agreed Gorgon. “It didn’t bite him. The two we’ve seen don’t act like smart exes, they just act like people. Unfortunately the people they’re acting like are Seventeens. So get the word out, okay? All of you.”

He let the coat swing closed and crossed his arms across his chest, just below the silver star. The all-done gunslinger pose. They took the hint and began to scatter.

“Thank you,” said Richard-something.

“No problem. Let’s try to keep this sort of thing down, okay? That’s why we’ve got district leaders. Last thing we need is for people to think there’s some army of genius exes out there trying to kill us all.”

THEY STOPPED ON the roof of a large house at the corner of Gregory and El Camino. St. George hid between the twin plaster chimneys while Stealth crouched in plain sight, her cloak blending into the tile shingles and shadows.

A line of tire-less cars stretched down Gregory Way, stacked two high along the southern sidewalk. A Hummer filled both levels at one point, as did a small orange U-Haul truck. A few yards apart, concrete road barriers were wedged up against the vehicles, pinning them in place. Chain-link fence stretched