Ex-Heroes Read Online Free Page B

and the figure was outside the sphere. It sank to the floor and the concrete began to smoke. The shape grew dim, the air flattened, and a gaunt, naked man tumbled to the ground with the sudden “whuff” of a flame being snuffed out.
    “Oh, Jesus!” he shouted. “It’s freezing in here. Where’s my clothes?”
    “On the chair.” St. George scooped him up, taking the dark-skinned man in one arm like a child.
    “Get me over there, for Christ’s sake.”
    “Wuss.”
    “Big man, picking on the naked cripple,” Barry said. “Get me some damned pants.”
    They crossed the room and St. George lowered his friend into the wheelchair. Barry dug through the bundle of clothes and wrestled his way into the sweatpants. He’d been dressing in the chair for most of his life, so it didn’t take long. He tugged a tee shirt over his stubbly head and wrapped himself in a fleece jacket. “No shoes?”
    “What do you need shoes for?”
    “My feet are cold.”
    “So put on the other pair of socks.”
    “Are they still serving breakfast?”
    “Yeah. And I got you something to eat on the way.” He dropped a shrunken muffin in the other man’s lap.
    “Thanks. Which truck are we taking out?”
    “ Big Red , I think.”
    “Good,” said Barry through a mouthful of pastry. “The shocks on Mean Green suck so bad I can feel it in my ass. You know what?”
    “What?”
    “I think this is the best blueberry muffin I have had in my entire life.”
    “I’m sure Mary’ll be glad to hear someone liked them.”
    “And I’m not just saying that because it’s been four days. This is one spectacular muffin.”
    St. George spun his walkie in his hand. “You know what you want? I can call ahead, have something ready.”
    “I will have,” he said with great thought, “a stack of at least five pancakes. Lots of syrup and whatever’s passing for butter these days. Some potatoes. And any of those powdered eggs they’ve got left.”
    “That it?”
    “We’ll talk later about what I’m taking with me for lunch. So, what’s going on?”
    “How so?”
    “You’re transparent, boy scout.”
    St. George shrugged. “Just talked to Josh.”
    “Oh, joy. How’d that go?”
    “Same as always. Self-pity, a little self-loathing, determined to end his life a lonely martyr.”
    Barry pushed another lump of muffin into this mouth. “One thing you have to say about our brave new world. It’s very consistent.”

    * * * *

    Big Red was parked next to the guard shack. It was a twenty-four foot truck that had been used for hauling set dressing back when the Mount was in the movie business. The new residents had cannibalized and customized it for scavenging runs. They’d chopped off most of the box and built a new frame for it, making it into a gigantic pick-up. It had a backup gas tank, a winch, and a cow catcher that had served as a battering ram once or twice. The double-cab sat four, another six rode in the bed, and a steel grill let two more ride on top of the cab. A petite woman with yellow and black stripes in her short hair was already there, seated on an old couch cushion. Lady Bee had an M-16 slung over her shoulder and a tactical holster strapped to one thigh. Someone once told St. George she’d been a movie costumer in the old days. She blew him a kiss as he walked past the truck.
    Luke Reid was at the wheel, as always. He was a blond, broad-shouldered Teamster who used to drive trucks for a living before everything went south. St. George saw Jarvis in Big Red ’s back, along with Ty O’Neill, Billie Carter, Ilya, and a few others he sort of recognized. They all gave him salutes and determined nods. Barry was already asleep in the giant truck bed, stretched out on a thick pile of furniture blankets with his wheelchair strapped to the wall next to him.
    St. George walked up to the Melrose Gate and stopped a few feet away from the dozens of grasping hands reaching and clawing between the bars. The exes had the gate mobbed, as