“That’s going to grate on the nerves,” said Cerberus. She shifted her stance and the armor reset dozens of targeting factors for her. After all this time, the M-2s felt heavy on her arms.
Zzzap hovered over her, casting light over the gate and down Twelfth Street. Could be worse, he said. Can you imagine if they all moaned like in the movies?
On top of the guard shack, Lady Bee shook her head. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you, hot stuff?”
What? I’m just saying, as sieges go—
“Stop talking,” said the battlesuit. “Just stop.”
A line of twenty guards stood by the gate, rifles slung over their shoulders. As one they stepped forward and rammed their pikes and spears through the bars of the gate. The dead stiffened as their skulls cracked and their brains were shredded. Then the humans pulled their weapons free, stepped back, and lunged at the gate again even as more exes staggered forward.
Lynne leaned against a lamppost, her dark hair fresh-shorn down to her scalp. She looked up at Zzzap. “Couldn’t you just go out and burn them all up by touching them or something?”
The shape of his head twisted to point at her. I could, he nodded, but I’d rather not.
“Why not?”
It feels … creepy when things burn on me.
She tilted her head. “How so?”
Did you ever see Carrie?
“No.”
The glowing wraith made a buzzing noise, and Lynne realized it was a sigh. Okay, he said, imagine what it would be like to have someone dump a few gallons of cold, rotted pig blood filled with maggots all over you.
Her face twisted up. “That’s disgusting.”
Yep.
Cerberus glanced up at him. “Wuss.”
Lynne looked between the two heroes. “Is that what exes feel like?”
That’s what everything solid feels like when I’m like this. Exes are worse because I have to think about what they are. The glowing outline shuddered in the air. I’ll do it to save lives, don’t get me wrong. But I’d rather wait until that moment if we can.
“Switch lines,” called out Bee. “Let’s not get tired before we have to.”
Lynne gave them a quick nod and ran to the gate. The pikemen stepped back and handed off their weapons. She stepped forward with a new line and another score of exes twitched and dropped.
Cerberus glanced up at the brilliant figure. “That really what it feels like?”
No, he said. It’s actually a lot worse. I’m just not very good with words.
The Bronson gate had been barricaded for over a year. Each side was blocked with a huge truck pressed against the gates. Another set of trucks had been backed against them and their tires slashed, creating an alley for any exes that slipped through. Stair units and ladders against the fallen vehicles let patrols stand on top and watch the crowds of exes.
St. George dropped down out of the night sky and landed on a truck with a loud thump. He’d pulled on some heavy boots, gloves, and a leather jacket covered with stitch work and patches. He looked at the tense faces and trembling weapons. “How’s everyone doing?”
The click-clack of countless teeth rose from outside the gate to fill the air.
Makana gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re peachy,” he said.
“You guys have it easy,” he said. “No pike work.”
“Rather be spearing ’em than sitting here,” said a heavy man with short blond dreadlocks.
The hero looked out over the Bronson entrance. The short driveway was crammed with the dead. They beat at the trucks through the gate, and the impacts shook beneath their feet. At least four hundred exes packed the area between the gate and the street. Beyond them, they mobbed the street, a crowd that spread off into the darkness in either direction.
“Don’t give in to fear,” St. George said. A muffled cough in the back of his throat sent a few curls of smoke out of his nostrils. “If you’re scared, that’s normal. It’s been a hell of a day. But if you let fear take over, you’re as good as dead. Just remember to do your job and they can’t get in.”
A rail-thin woman shook her head. “What about the SS?”
“We’ll take care of them, don’t worry.”
“But how? We can’t shoot at people. We can’t—”
“I said,” he interrupted, “we’ll take care of them. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“No point worrying anyway, right?” A young kid glanced up at the hero. He was sixteen at the most, and the rifle looked huge in his hands. “This is where we go down fighting.”
St. George shook his head. “No. We don’t lose. We’re the good guys.”
“So what? We all survive just because they can’t hurt you?”
He sighed. “No, it isn’t that.” He gave the kid a pat on the back. “Stealth told me if we all survived tonight she’d have sex with me.”
The kid’s eyes bugged. “No way! Seriously?!”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “But it’s a fun thought to live for, isn’t it?”
They laughed.
His headset crackled. “St. George?”
“Go.”
“Something big and purple at Van Ness. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Damn it,” he said, scanning the street. “How’d he get by us?” He looked at the guards. “You all good here?”
They gave him a round of thumbs-up and salutes and he threw himself into the air.
Stealth crouched on the arch above Melrose gate with Gorgon. The exes had always been thick there, but now they grew denser by the moment. They packed the space in front of the gate and pushed back into the streets. Hordes of them staggered down Melrose and up Windsor.
Thirty people walked the walls and stared down at the hungry mob. Some of them manned scaffolding towers. The dead pounded and clawed at the stucco.
Another fourteen gate guards rammed pikes between the bars with a crunch of bone. They stabbed again
