“Wifebeater,” called Billie.
Something flared like the dawn far down Melrose Avenue. “I think I see Zzzap,” said Bee. “He’s on his way back.”
The light pulsed twice and flared again. And then, echoing down the empty road, they heard reports over the endless clicking of teeth.
“Shit,” said Jarvis. “Is that gunfire?”
“That’s a lot of gunfire,” corrected Ilya.
“Exes?”
Billie shook her head. “That’s not just us. Somebody’s shooting back.”
St. George came bounding over the truck. He tapped the bead on his headset. “Melrose gate, you there?”
The radio hissed.
“Melrose gate, this is the Dragon at Big Red, do you copy?”
More static.
Cerberus glanced at him as she lifted an ex by the neck. “Another jammer?”
“It’d make sense.” He kicked an ex away and Jarvis put a round through its skull.
There was another surge of light and radios around the truck squawked. “Big Red this is Melrose,” a voice buzzed over the walkies. “You guys still out there?”
Cerberus hurled her ex through the windshield of a car as St. George keyed his mike. “Here. That you, Derek?”
“They’re coming to you. ETA twelve minutes.”
“Copy that,” St. George said. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Lady Bee give a thumbs-up. “What’s all the noise?”
“Seventeens. Got a little ahead of themselves. If the gate had been open all the way they’d’ve had us.”
“Everything okay?”
There was a crackle of static. “Gorgon was waiting for them.”
“Right at the gate?”
“Yep. He’s feeling pretty amped right now.”
“How?”
“Stealth told us it was a diversion, you getting stuck out there. We caught a half dozen. The others are on the run. Zzzap’s keeping after them. How are you holding up?”
St. George planted his foot against another ex and sent it flying. He looked back at the truck again and the scavengers gave a variety of signals. He added up fists and fingers. “A third of our ammo’s gone. Immediate threat of two hundred exes. We’ve still got one man down and he...”
He glanced up at Mark’s slumped form and Lady Bee shook her head.
“He’s not doing any better,” finished the hero, “let’s say that.”
“Copy,” said Derek’s voice. “You should see their headlights soon.”
St. George took a breath and leaped back over the truck, coming down on top of an old Asian woman in a flowered blouse. He grabbed her by the hair and tossed her down the street into a chalk-skinned security guard.
The exes were a crowd now. A swarm of dozens on each side, all shuffling toward the crippled truck. The night echoed with countless clicking teeth and dragging limbs.
“Concert tee-shirt,” called Ilya.
“Hippy-girl,” said Lee.
“Doctor,” shouted Lynne. She had to reload and yelped when the M1’s breech snapped on her thumb.
Cerberus grabbed two exes and smashed their skulls together. She let the headless corpses drop and brought her fist down like a sledgehammer on a man in a tattered business suit. She kicked the bodies away and they tripped another handful of exes as they spun across the pavement. Lady Bee and Jarvis made sure none of the fallen got back up.
“Boss!” shouted Luke. “A little help.”
St. George stepped to the passenger side and a trio of exes fell on him. A teenage girl in a Jack In The Box uniform threw her arms on the hero and tried to sink her teeth into his neck. Another wrapped its arms around his shoulders as he twisted, tried to bite his scalp, and ended up gnawing a mouthful of hair it couldn’t tear loose. The last one, a child, clung to his leg like a leech and chewed at the back of his knee.
He glanced up at Luke. “Watch the lift gate for me.”
“Got it.”
He waded a few yards away from the truck, dragging the exes with him. He worked his hands between himself and the teenager as she gnashed at his throat, felt a tooth drop from her mouth, felt her withered breasts under his palms, and shoved. She flew back and vanished into the night. Between gunshots he heard something in the distance hit the ground and crack.
His fingers closed on the child’s neck. Two yanks shook the thing off his leg, and he held it at arm’s length to look at it for a moment. It was caked in blood and gore. He hurled it at a shuffling dead man and watched them both fly back into a tree just off the road. They twitched for a moment, trying to move with shattered spines.
Another ex lumbered toward him, a heavy bald man with a dark goatee. There were two bullet holes in his shirt. St. George tried to step forward and the ex swallowing his hair tugged him off balance.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He whipped his neck forward and felt his hair slide free to slap against his back.
The goateed ex raised its arms, clacked its teeth together twice, and its left eye vanished in a spray of black blood. It dropped to the ground.
“Thanks," St. George shouted.