She shrugged. “We’ve been seeing more and more accidents from the wall.”
“You think they’re trying to get out of guard duty?”
“I think they’re bored silly.”
“Yeah. Who would’ve guessed survival would be so dull?”
“To hell with that,” she snorted. “Who’d guess living in a movie studio would be so dull.”
“When I get back I’ll see about setting up shorter shifts. I think Gorgon has a few people ready to go on active guard duty.”
“Can I toss an idea at you? It’s something I’ve been thinking about.”
“Sure.”
She settled back against the wall. “Back before Nine-Eleven, I did a semester abroad in Egypt. Cairo American College. They were already nuts about security then. It took a serious effort to go anywhere and not have line of sight to a soldier or a police officer. Turns out they were having the same problem, though. All these men standing around for hours and hours every day with nothing happening. They were getting careless and having tons of accidents. Soldiers were shooting themselves in the leg or the foot. If they were on a tower they could even shoot people below them.”
St. George nodded. “How’d they solve it?”
“They stopped loading the guns.”
He smiled. “I don’t think that’ll fly with Stealth.”
Connolly shook her head. “They gave them ammo. They just didn’t let them stand around with it. They’d tape two clips together, one up, one down. That way the guns weren’t loaded, but all they had to do was flip the clips over and they’d be ready to go.”
“And you just happened to notice all that?”
“I was fifteen years younger, twenty pounds lighter, and traveling alone.” She gave him a smirk. “Men talked to me about anything they could think of.”
Across from them, Mikkelson groaned and twitched. A shiver passed through him and a slow hand reached up to feel his stitches.
“I hear it’s like having one of the worst hangovers of your life,” she said with a nod at the shuddering man.
“That it is. Any other news?”
“I think we’ve made a small breakthrough with the ex-virus. Nothing ground-breaking, from a practical point of view, but I’ll know for sure when some tests finish up this afternoon.”
He nodded.
Mikkelson almost fell off the table and swore under his breath. He stood on wobbly legs, took in a breath to start shouting, and saw St. George. The hero gave him a slow nod. “Problem, Roger?”
“I just wanted a couple extra mushrooms,” he muttered. “I was hungry. What the fuck’s the big deal?”
“I think when you take stuff that’s not yours they call it stealing.”
“They’re fucking mushrooms.”
“They’re food. You want more rations, you bring it up at your district meeting.”
“Whatever. What would you know about it? You don’t even eat.” He rubbed his stitches and pushed past them into the hall.
“You want to leave those alone,” said the doctor. “Come back in a few days and I’ll take them out.”
He waved a dismissive arm back at her.
“Roger,” St. George called down the hall. “This is two strikes for you. Next time it’s not me or Gorgon. You’ll have to deal with Stealth.”
The big man gave them another glance, but his eyes softened. He shoved his hands in his pockets and clomped down the stairs.
Connolly glanced at St. George. “You do eat, don’t you?”
“God, yes,” he said. “I dreamed about ultimate cheeseburgers last night. A big pile of them, all warm and wrapped in paper. I’d kill for some meat these days.”
She laughed. “One other thing?”
“Sure.”
“Can you talk to Josh? I think it would mean a lot to him.”
“Why?”
“He’s getting depressed again.”
“I mean, why would it mean anything coming from me? Heck, at this point you probably know him better than I do.”
“I do,” she said with a nod. “And that’s why I think he still relates better to you than he does to me. Not to swell your head or anything, but he used to be one of you and now he’s just one of us.”
“Wow. How super-phobic of you.”
She smiled. “Did you just make that up?”
“No, I heard Ty O’Neill use it once. You know it’s a hell of a lot more than just losing his powers, right?”
“I know,” she said. “But there’s only so much I can deal with. The dead wife I can relate to. Loss of god-like powers...” She shrugged.
He sighed. “Yeah, okay. Where is he?”
“In the infirmary. Doing his rounds.”
“Ahhh,” said George. “Spreading his cheer and goodwill to all the patients.”
The man once known as Regenerator stood by a hospital bed, checking his patient’s chart. His right hand rested in the wide pocket of his lab coat and a purple stethoscope dangled around his neck. The young man in the bed was out cold, his lower leg bound tight with white gauze.