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

and again, and ex after ex slumped against the gate. Their bodies slid down and vanished under the shambling, shuffling feet of the horde.

Derek’s voice came from below. He stood on the wall at the side of the arch, his rifle held in one hand. “When do you want us to start sweeping?”

“This is not the attack,” shouted Stealth, “just the massing of forces. Conserve your ammunition for now. Pikes only.”

Another wave of crushed skulls echoed up to her.

“Demon’s at Van Ness,” said Gorgon. “Not the best way for us to start, with you being wrong right at the top.”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” she said. Her cloak draped across her shoulders and down over the edge of the archway. “Can you see any farther than four blocks under these conditions?”

He looked around. “Not really.” His hand went to his mic. “All gates, let’s get some flares up.”

Across the Mount small comets shot into the sky and burst into stars. They could see for blocks now as red and yellow light bathed the surrounding neighborhood. Melrose was visible for a quarter mile past either end of the walls.

The walking dead kept coming. More and more, until the pavement vanished under a carpet of death. Thirty thousand dead eyes stared at them, and thirty thousand brittle hands clawed at the air. The exes pounded the walls, pushed at the steel fences, and rammed their arms between the gate’s curling decorations.

In the distance they could hear engines roaring and horns blaring. The Seventeens were near.

Gorgon rolled his head in a circle until his neck popped. “Still feeling confident?”

“We are prepared,” said Stealth. “We know their capabilities. It will be a challenge, but we are ready for whatever they have to fight us with.”

And then all the lights went out.

THE FLOODLIGHTS AT North Gower flickered once and went dead.

A cry went out but Zzzap had already brightened. His light spread across the street. No reason to worry, he told them. We’re all grown-ups. Nobody’s scared of the dark, right? Well, except Bee.

“Fuck you,” she said with a tight smile.

You wouldn’t survive it, beautiful.

They all chuckled, and Cerberus gave him a nod. It was a clear night. Even without Zzzap, the waxing moon and the brilliant flares in the sky still made it easy to see. The pikes stabbed in again and dropped another handful of exes.

The pounding on the truck got louder.

Lynne looked up at the battlesuit. “Can you feel that?”

“What?”

The teenager looked around and rolled down her sleeves. “It’s getting chilly.”

Lady Bee nodded. “Temperature’s dropping,” she agreed. “What the hell’s that about?”

The dead pounded on the truck, louder and louder. The living could feel the vibrations on their skin.

“They’re getting stronger,” said Cerberus.

“No.” One of the guards shook his head. He had an ear up, listening. “It just sounds that way because they’re syncing up. They’re starting to beat in time.”

The drumbeat on the truck became louder. The sound echoed across the Mount.

“They’re all beating in time,” muttered Bee.

A shiver worked its way through the crowd. Outside the gate, the chattering of dead teeth grew louder.

“Oh, God,” a man shouted. His pike clattered to the ground. “Look at the sky!”

Far above, all three flares snuffed out like old matches. The stars vanished one by one. An inky shadow crept across the moon, across everything.

Inside the armor, lights flashed and power levels wavered. Frost formed on the screens. Cerberus staggered. She rerouted systems and tried to stabilize the batteries as her interior lights dimmed. “What the hell is going on?”

Every walkie-talkie let out a low, flat hiss of static. The guards screamed and the moon vanished behind a black shroud.

Zzzap extended his energies again and trembled as the darkness resisted. The shadows fought and forced his light back to his body. It was something he hadn’t felt in over a year, and something he thought he’d never have to feel again.

Fucking son of a bitch, he said. It’s Midknight.

The drumbeat of the dead echoed across the Mount like a relentless overseer on an ancient slave ship. Gorgon’s confident smirk faded. Even Stealth seemed shaken.

Below them, the exes parted to let the trucks drive up. Over a dozen of them, all spray-painted with different shades of green. Seventeens rode the roof and hung out the windows. At the head of the parade, Mighty Joe Young—Rodney Casares—rode in the back of a National Guard truck decorated with skulls and a large neon-green 17 on the hood. They whooped and hollered and fired their guns into the sky.

“Thank God,” muttered Gorgon. “Something I can deal with.”

Stealth sank down against the arch. In some way Gorgon couldn’t wrap his head around, her black and gray cloak blended into the ivory material. She was ten feet away and he had trouble seeing her.

The gigantic ex waded through the dead, his eyes locked on Gorgon the whole time. They shifted and stumbled to clear a path for him. The drumming stopped. The chattering of teeth slowed and stopped.

“Just the man I was looking for,” bellowed the Seventeens’ leader. He stood in the intersection before the gates and flashed his tombstone grin.

“Rodney,” called Gorgon. He crossed his arms across his chest and squared off his shoulders. Gunslinger pose. “Long time no see. Still ugly as shit.”

“And bigger than life,” he cackled. “Fucking awesome, isn’t it? Life and death throw down in my body and I just keep getting bigger and meaner.” He flexed a swollen arm the size of a beer keg.

Dozens and dozens of Seventeens trained their weapons on the Melrose gate.

“Tell you what,” shouted the huge ex. He slapped his hands together and the exes shifted as one. A space opened around him, ten, twenty, thirty feet across when the dead stopped shambling out of the way. “Last chance. You come down, give yourself up, and I send everyone else away. You got my word.”

“Yeah, you’ve been known for your word for years,” called Gorgon. “Save the cheap effects, dipshit. You’re still