Roddenberry to the Melrose Gate was only a quick hop. A small crowd had formed, but St. George could pick out Cerberus looming by the gate and the leather-clad scavengers around Road Warrior as he drifted to the ground.
Road Warrior was a twenty-four foot truck that had been used for hauling equipment out to filming locations back when the Mount was in the movie business. The scavengers had chopped the roof and most of the walls off of the box and built a new frame inside it, making the vehicle into a gigantic pick-up. The truck had two large reserve gas tanks, a winch, and a wedge-like steel prow which had served as a battering ram more than a few times. There were bench seats for eight people in the back with plenty of standing room, and a steel platform on the cab’s roof could hold two or three more.
Billie and Jarvis had a small handcart covered with shimmering piles of metal they were handing out to each of the scavengers. Lady Bee was there, along with Lee and Paul. He could see Ilya, Lynne, and a few other regulars in the back of the truck. Luke Reid sat on the hood of the truck. St. George saw Hector de la Vega standing a few feet away from the main group. He made a point of locking eyes with the tattooed man and giving him a nod.
They threw rough salutes to the hero. Most of them were shaking out the chainmail armor and checking sizes against themselves. None of them looked pleased.
“Trade ‘em if you have to,” said Billie. “They’re sort of sized. Let’s get everyone as close as we can.”
“Did we get the sleeves?” St. George asked Jarvis.
The salt-and-pepper man shook his head. “No go, chief,” he said. “He says at best he’d need another day.”
St. George frowned and looked at Billie. She shrugged.
“I feel like I should be in Lord of the Rings or something,” said Lee.
A set of chainmail armor hit the pavement like a bag of pennies. “This stuff sucks, boss,” said Paul.
Lady Bee nodded in agreement. She’d gotten the nickname from her striped hair. “None of it fits right and it weighs a ton,” she said. “And I’m pretty sure I asked for a chainmail bikini.”
“I asked for Bee to get a chainmail bikini, too,” chimed Ilya. She blew him a kiss and everyone laughed.
St. George waved them all to silence. “Hey,” he said, “anyone else with bulletproof skin raise your hand.”
Lee cleared his throat and started to put up his palm. Billie cuffed him across the back of the head.
“You need to have something out there,” he continued. “It’s been five months since anyone’s been bitten, but we’ve had two close calls in the past month. If everyone kept their leathers on it wouldn’t be a problem. But it’s too damned hot and once one person pulls off their jacket we all do.”
They all glanced at each other. Everyone was in tank tops and t-shirts with their leathers piled next to them. Paul prodded the chainmail with his boot. “Is this our only choice?”
“Think of it like a shark suit,” said Jarvis. “They can still bite y’all, they just can’t break the skin. And it’s a lot cooler.”
“Except it weighs twenty pounds so we’ll just get hot that way,” muttered Lynne.
“Chain mail bikini would weigh a lot less,” said Bee. “I’m just saying.”
“Shit looks gay.” They all glanced back at Hector. He scratched his neck by the razor-stubble that was his hairline. “I ain’t wearin’ it.”
Billie’s nostrils flared and St. George set a hand on her shoulder as she went to step forward. “It’s armor, people,” he said. “It’s not the greatest solution, but it’s what we’ve got. If we find something better, or it starts getting cool again, it’s gone. But for now you wear it so you can all come home at the end of the day and brag about killing famous exes.”
There were a few mutters. Lee worked his arm into one of the sleeves and flexed a few times. It made a metallic, rustling noise. Lady Bee raised her hand.
The hero tipped his head to her. “What’s up, Bee?”
“Does this mean I’m not getting the chainmail bikini?”
“Give it up.”
“I like my jokes like I like my men,” she said with a wink. “Ridden to death.”
Jarvis dropped the last empty box on the cart. “Who didn’t get any?”
Ilya raised a hand. So did a scruffy redheaded kid and a rail-thin older woman.
St. George sighed and made a decision. “You two are out for today,” he said. “We should have enough next time we go out.”
“They can have mine,” called Hector.
“Ilya, can I trust you to keep your leathers on?”
The dark-haired man gave a sage nod. “You got it, boss.”
“Hey, I’ll keep mine on, too,” said the thin woman.
St. George shook his head. “Sorry. Ilya’s probably the only person I trust to sweat it out.” He looked at the group. “Everybody else, let’s get ready to move out.”