Ex-Purgatory: A Novel (43 page)

“Jesus, Gibbs,” he coughed when the barrage stopped. “There’s people everywhere! Civilians!”

The lieutenant growled and ignored him. Another punch came swinging around. St. George set his leg back to brace himself and managed to catch the fist with both hands. The impact made him slide back a foot.

Sorry, Danielle, he thought.

The gauntlet had three fingers and a thumb. Each one was as thick as a soda can. He grabbed the thumb and the farthest finger and twisted.

There was a squeal of metal and a few sparks as the steel hand tore apart. Cerberus yanked away, but it was too late. St. George let the two digits hit the ground. One of the remaining fingers hung at a strange angle and twitched. The other one kept flexing as Gibbs held it up to check damage. “Son of a bitch,” muttered the lieutenant.

The broken hand slammed into St. George’s face. The two remaining fingers grabbed his head in an awkward pinch. He reached up to grab them and the stunners fired up again.

His muscles tensed. This time he felt it in his tongue and teeth and eyes. His eyelids twitched. The finger-claw tightened on his skull and lifted him off the ground. He reached up, tried to shake himself loose, but couldn’t grab hard enough.

He felt the muzzle of the M2 settle against his stomach and a moment later he was punched in the gut a dozen times. At point-blank range the sound itself was a weapon. The barrel rose and the furious rounds battered their way up his chest. Then the impacts tore him free from the damaged fingers and he tumbled away.

St. George staggered back but managed not to fall over. He took in a deep breath to blind the titan with a burst of fire and his chest screamed with pain. A hundred spikes stabbed between his ribs. He coughed out some smoke, a few flickers of flame, and then slumped to his knees.

The battlesuit stepped forward and leveled the M2 against his head.

“STOP IT!”

Danielle ran along the garden. Her hair and shoulders were soaking wet, and her shirt was plastered to the dark contact suit beneath it. She pushed past some terrified onlookers, took a few panting breaths as she swung her legs over the wall, and ran toward the battlesuit. “Gibbs, stand down now.”

The armored skull turned to her. “Ma’am?”

“That’s St. George,” said Danielle. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“He’s gone rogue, ma’am. He’s threatened civilians and tried to overthrow—”

“He’s been asleep,” Danielle said. “We’ve all been asleep for two days. He hasn’t done anything. Now stand down.”

“Lieutenant,” yelled Christian.

The huge lenses turned her way.

“They’re in this together,” shouted the mayor. “Don’t you realize that?”

Danielle heard the voice. She knew the tones and inflections from back when John Smith was the guy she worked with almost every day and woke up with on more than a few mornings. She recognized the sly smile. Seeing it all come from Christian threw her, but not by much. She’d come to accept pretty much anything where Smith was concerned.

The titan swung back around and glared at Danielle. She’d never realized just how aggressive the armor’s face could look. The battlesuit took two stomping steps toward her.

“You, too, ma’am?” the titan said. “I respected you.”

“This isn’t going to work, Gibbs,” she said. “Just stop now. You can’t win this.”

The M2 swung around. The barrel settled in front of her. “Not really sure how you see it that way, ma’am.”

The cannon’s muzzle was huge. She looked up at the helmet’s round lenses. “Because you’re inside my armor,” she told the titan, “and you can hear my voice.”

Gibbs’s snort echoed over the battlesuit’s speakers. “Are those your last words?”

“Not quite,” she said. She wiped a wet strand of hair off her face and took a deep breath. “Patriotic! Crustacean! Houdini!”

The bright lenses flickered. Just for a moment. Loud
clacks
came from the ammo hopper. Across the armor, two dozen small panels opened at the shoulders and hips and around the waist, each one the size of a matchbook. Four of them popped up around the thick collar the helmet sat on. A gleaming bolt sat under each one.

The cannon pointed at her trembled but didn’t fire. She stepped back and Gibbs growled inside the armor. “What the hell have you done?” he yelled.

“A subroutine I wrote a while ago to save time,” Danielle said. “Back when I had to do most of this myself.”

The steel fingers flexed, and he snarled. It was a rasping sound through the speaker. She imagined him trying to activate the stunners again and again with the optical mouse.

She took another step back. “Cerberus is preparing for disassembly. The weapons systems are offline,” she told him. “You can’t turn any of them back on without a hard reboot.”

The battlesuit took a step forward. She took two more back. The eyes flickered again.

“You might want to stand up straight,” said Danielle. “Once I shut it down, the gyros won’t keep the armor stabilized anymore.”

Cerberus growled and lunged at her. The huge fingers spread, ready to snap shut on her skull. She flinched away and heard a clang of steel on stone.

St. George grimaced as the fingers tried to crush his arm. “Thanks for the breather,” he said.

“No problem.”

“Well, that really sucks.”

Christian Smith shook her head and pushed her sunglasses up. She’d recognized Danielle, even twenty yards away and soaking wet. And despite some quick improvisation, the unarmed, unarmored redhead had already disabled the battlesuit to some degree.

She was always the clever one.

Smith hadn’t expected this combo. She’d expected one or two heroes to fight the battlesuit—hopefully St. George and Captain Freedom. Best case, they’d be killed, worst case they’d all be beaten senseless and easy to control. It had never crossed her mind that Danielle could just shut the suit off from the outside.

She adjusted her glasses and took a few steps along the garden. At least Gibbs would keep the heroes busy long enough to get Plan B up and run—

Something sharp yanked Christian’s skull to the left, like she’d slammed the side of her head into a beam or pipe. Her sunglasses tumbled away and the side of her face sagged. Just as the sound of the gunshot reached her, the dark line along her temple burned into her skin and became a stream of hot blood. It soaked her ear and her jaw and rained down on her shoulder.

In the corner of her eye, a shadow slid closer across the parking lot. Stealth had one of her Glock 19s aimed at Christian’s head. A faint wisp of smoke came from the barrel. “That was a warning,” she said. “Do not move and do not speak.” She walked forward and her cloak swirled around her.

“Oh, God!” Christian screamed. She grabbed at her head and her fingers came back wet and red.

“Turn around. Get on your knees.”

“Please don’t kill me,” Smith begged with Christian’s voice. “Please. I never meant all those things I said about you and the others. I was just angry. I didn’t—”

“Silence.”

“I don’t want to die!” she wailed. “I don’t! I don’t think you can hold that gun, do you?”

Stealth’s arm dropped and the pistol clattered on the pavement.

“Gotcha,” grinned Smith.

The cloaked woman lunged forward, her fingers curling for a strike.

“Punching again?”

She stumbled in mid step and came to a halt. Her fists trembled.

Smith raised a hand. “Let’s calm down, okay?”

Stealth froze for a moment. Then she spun and her boot caught Smith in the gut. Air whoofed out of the other woman and she stumbled back. The cloaked woman followed through with a second spinning kick that cracked across Christian’s jaw.

“I am always calm,” said Stealth.

Smith coughed some blood and sputtered out two teeth. “Let’s stop all the violence, then, okay?” Her voice was slurred, but it was clear enough. “Could you help me up?”

She could feel Stealth glaring at her through the black mask. The cloaked woman reached down and pulled Smith up to her feet.

Christian pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her mouth. She spit out a few more fragments of teeth and then tried pressing the cloth on the side of her head. It was soaked with blood in seconds. She grumbled to herself and then waved at Stealth. “Would you take the lead?”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to Stage 32,” said the other woman. “It’s a lot more visible than I wanted, but it looks like I’m going to have to have
you all beat each other to death. And then, if you’re still in one piece, we’re going to find someplace quiet for a day or two.” Smith looked at the handkerchief again and shook her head. “Word is, you caused a lot of problems when I tried to take you hostage out at Yuma, but I’m sure you won’t cause any trouble at all this time, will you?”

Cerberus squeezed and pushed down, but St. George pushed back. The battlesuit couldn’t crush his arm, and it didn’t have the leverage to force him down.

Then the gunshot and scream echoed across the garden and St. George’s head whipped around. He caught a quick glimpse of Stealth with a pistol drawn advancing on Christian, a flash of blood, and then the titan shifted tactics and yanked St. George up in the air.

He forced his way even higher and the battlesuit stumbled. It took a moment for Gibbs to catch up and let go. The steel arm dropped and some of the small panels across the body scraped and sparked.

St. George looked across the lot. Stealth was helping Christian up. The pistol was gone. Christian was smiling.

Cerberus glared up at the hero hanging in the air. Then it ran at Danielle. The steel feet clanged.

St. George tackled the battlesuit and sent it staggering.

The punch whipped past Danielle, missing her by a few inches.

St. George put his fists together and slammed them into the armor’s side, right under the arm. The battlesuit stumbled another few steps and he wrapped his arms around the leg and pulled.

Cerberus crashed to the ground again.

He looked back toward the garden. Stealth and Christian had vanished. He could guess what happened if Smith managed to get a few words out.

Danielle came running over. He opened his mouth to talk but
she waved him silent. “Echo sierra alpha victor forty-two,” she called out.

The battlesuit slammed its mangled hand against the ground and pushed up. The servos whined. The damaged hand sparked on the pavestone walkway.

She frowned. “Echo! Sierra! Alpha! Victor! Forty-Two!”

The armored titan got to its hands and knees, then brought one foot up.

Danielle called out the words one more time and punctuated the phrase with a swear. “Goddammit,” she added. “He killed the external mikes. I can’t shut it down.”

St. George watched Cerberus climb to its feet. “I can,” he told her.

“What do you mean?”

He guided her back as the battlesuit straightened up. “Gibbs isn’t going to stop until he kills us. Or until we stop him.”

Her eyes went wide. “No.”

The battlesuit turned around and the lenses locked onto them. St. George grabbed Danielle around the waist and leaped into the air. He flew away from the titan, and realized a moment later it meant he was flying away from Stealth and Smith, too.

Cerberus stomped after them.

Danielle stiffened up as the buildings fell away. Her arms pulled in tight, and even her legs pressed together. She gritted her teeth and managed another “No.”

Below them Cerberus smashed through the low wall around the garden and sent chunks of mortar and cinder blocks flying. An angry backhand crumpled the front of
Mean Green
.

They flew over Five and Four. “He’ll run out of power using it like that,” Danielle gasped. “Without Barry recharging it, the suit won’t last long at all.”

“How long?”

She was taking quick breaths through her nose. “Put us down.”

He dropped down between Stage 4 and the Edith Head Building. A few people watched them land, drawn out by the sounds.
Danielle relaxed as the walls rose up around them and he set her on the ground. “Maybe forty-five minutes,” she said. “An hour tops. If you can just keep him—”

He shook his head. “That’s too long. If we keep this up, he’s going to kill someone. And Smith has Stealth.”