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

any meat in two months. Remember when they found that case of tuna?”

“Yeah.”

He mulled it over. “They’ve gotta have some canned meat stored away in the food bank. You think they’d free up some Spam or something for a prisoner?”

“I don’t know if Spam counts as meat either.”

“Well, fuck him. If we get him something and he doesn’t want it, we can eat it.”

“Good point,” nodded John with a grin.

They banged on the door. “Hey,” called Mike. “You hungry? What do you want for breakfast?”

A thump and some scuffling came from inside.

“What’s his name?”

John’s narrow shoulders bounced again. “I don’t know. Everyone just said the dead guy.”

They unlocked the door. The ex-Seventeen had fallen off his cot and was struggling to his feet. The cell stank and the blood had dried in a wide scab across the floor.

John peered around his partner’s bulk and cleared his throat. “Hey, dead guy, what’s your name?”

The ex’s skin had gone chalky gray. He stared at Mike and displayed his engraved tooth. His jaws clacked together once.

Mike glared back at the ex. “Don’t give me any of that gang attitude, dipshit,” he said. “We’re trying to be decent people. You play nice, we’ll get you some breakfast, maybe something to read, whatever. You want to be a dick, we can just leave you in here.”

The ex took a shaky step forward, then another. It raised its hands.

John took a step back. “Mike …”

The dead thing snapped its teeth together again. And again and again. It made an awkward grab at Mike’s beefy arm and opened its mouth wide.

He took a quick step back just as John grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled. They stumbled through the narrow door, tripped over each other’s legs, and fell. The ex shuffled out after them and tripped over a swollen crack in the pavement. It dropped onto John’s leg with its mouth open and began to chew.

“SHIT!” Blood blossomed through his jeans, as John tried to shake the zombie off.

Mike rolled to the side and drove three hard kicks into the ex’s skull. His sneaker slapped and bent on its head, but knocked it off his friend. The jaws flung a few red drops as they clacked together.

John dragged himself back and Mike fired one last kick at the dead thing. He tried to scamper away and the ex followed him. It crawled on all fours and bits of fresh calf dropped from its mouth.

“HELP!” screamed John. He tried to hold his hand over the wound as he pulled his skinny frame back. “EX! Ex inside the wall!”

Mike threw another kick and caught the dead thing across the jaw. Its teeth snapped on the sole of his Converse and gnawed at the slab of rubber. He shook his foot, but the ex hung on like a pit bull. It reached up and wrapped its arms around his leg. The hands didn’t grab so much as press together on his knee.

The jaws snapped open and shut and now the teeth were on the ball of his foot. His little toe was in the Seventeen’s mouth. He could feel the incisors through the canvas, like a chisel pressing down hard. A bone snapped and Mike screamed as his eyes watered up.

He heard the drumroll of boots on pavement. A blue and gold blur landed on the ex and pushed it flat against the ground. The figure wiggled, bent down, and the ex’s head jerked back. Mike felt his foot slip just a bit free of the teeth. The blurry shape yanked again as the jaws tried to swallow more sneaker. The dead man’s skull twisted back and Mike’s heel banged against the pavement. He dragged himself away and wiped his eyes clear.

Lady Bee rode the ex like a horse, her heels on its spine and her studded belt circling its throat. She held an end in either hand, steering the jaws away from her. “Put it down!”

Derek, the Melrose guard, leaped across John with a sledge. The handle slid through his grip and he brought the weight up and over in a high arc. The ex’s skull collapsed and dark blood spurted from its ears and nose.

The belt slithered around the limp neck. Bee looked at the splatters of gore on it, sighed, and dropped it by the corpse.

John shuddered. His pant leg was balled at his knee and his wide eyes were stuck on the ragged bite in his calf.

“You people,” Derek shouted at an approaching group. The guard pointed at John while he reached for his walkie. “He’s been bitten. Get him over to Zukor. Carry him. Melrose gate?”

“Go for Melrose,” buzzed his headset.

“Ex down over by the Lansing Theater cells. Need a cleanup crew.”

“Got it.”

Bee pulled off Mike’s gummy shoe and sock. His arch and half his toes were bruised and twisted, but there was no blood. She whistled.

“You’re shit-lucky,” said Derek. “Broke your foot but it didn’t break the skin.”

“Oh thank God,” cried Mike. “Thank God.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” said Bee.

“It was a prisoner. They said he was a smart one, that he could talk and everything. We were trying to find out if he wanted anything for breakfast.”

She and Derek each got an arm under him and lifted him to his feet. “And he attacked you?”

“Yeah, he attacked,” Mike said. Bee was too short on one side, Derek too tall on the other. His foot swung and he winced. “It was just another fucking ex. It came at us, tried to bite me in the cell, and we tripped.”

“Did he say anything? Did you piss him off?”

“It’s an ex,” said the hobbled man. He shifted to put his arm across her shoulders. “No talking, no thinking, just eating.”

Derek looked at the corpse. “You sure?”

“Why don’t you go ask John? I think he got a better look.”

“Come on, smart guy,” said Bee. “Let’s get you to the hospital. I know you’ve been dying to get your hands on me.”

“Dream on, slut.”

“See, that’s what a