Ex-Communication Peter Clines (ebook smartphone .TXT) 📖

minutes after that the exes were banging their teeth together again. There hadn’t been a sign of Legion since then.

His own wounds were healing. As he’d learned the last time he fought the demon, his immune system was powerful enough to handle any disease he encountered. Dr. Connolly took a trio of blood samples this time. “Who knows how long it’ll be before something breaks your skin again,” she said.

Freedom was still in intensive care. His ribs had been set and taped, and he’d received several transfusions. Freedom’s massive frame held over fifteen pints of blood, and he’d lost more than six. His soldiers had lined up to donate. Even the ones who didn’t match his type insisted on donating to the slowly growing blood bank.

He was racked with disease. Connolly was pretty sure Cairax Murrain’s last gift to Freedom was a fast-acting case of the bubonic plague. The huge officer was in quarantine with three different IVs filling him with fluids and antibiotics. St. George had wanted to try a transfusion, to see if his blood would help Freedom fight off the disease, but he was the wrong blood type. “Besides,” Connolly told him, “I’m not entirely sure your blood wouldn’t treat his whole body as an infection.”

Last St. George had heard, she was prepping an ice bath to bring the captain’s temperature down but expected him to make an eventual recovery. “It would’ve killed anyone else by now,” she said, “but the man’s got the constitution of a bull elephant.”

The sun came up seven hours early and bathed the water tower in brilliant light. St. George’s musings vanished with the darkness. I thought I might find you here.

“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing out of the chair?”

I asked Stealth if I could come talk to you.

“And she said yes?”

Yeah. Most folks are already asleep, and there’s hours of battery life.

“So,” he asked his friend, “what’s up?”

I just wanted to say good-bye.

St. George smiled. “You flew over here to tell me you’re going back to Four?”

No, George. I came to say good-bye.

A faint chill shimmied down St. George’s back. “What do you mean?”

Now that I know what I am, I realize I’m not supposed to be here.

“What?”

Zzzap tilted his head back and looked out into space. It’s time to return to my place in the heavens. Time to embrace my destiny.

“Barry, what the hell are you talking about?”

Good-bye, George. You’ve been a good friend. I’ll miss you.

“Wait, you can’t be seri—”

The gleaming wraith shot up into the sky, a falling star in reverse. In an instant he was one pinprick of light among thousands. Another star in the night.

And then he was gone.

St. George stared up into the sky, his jaw still open, unsure what had just happened. The after-image of Zzzap still burned his eyes. He shouted his friend’s name, then yelled it again over their private radio channel.

No response.

He sank down and the heels of his new boots clanged against the roof of the water tower.

Then a bolt of light shot down out of the night and halted in front of him.

Nah, I’m just screwing with you, said Zzzap.

“You bastard,” said St. George. “I think I just had three different heart attacks.”

Let’s be real. This place would fall apart inside of a week without me.

“So you don’t think you’re an archangel now?”

Oh, hell no, said the gleaming wraith. Last thing I want is to be a religious figurehead. Plus, isn’t there a law or a commandment about impersonating God or something like that?

“Maybe the one about false idols?”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Besides, I was just a good symbolic representation of an archangel, not the real deal.

They hung there for a moment, looking down at the city. So many people had moved out when the Big Wall was done, the population of the Mount itself had dropped to almost nothing. It was clearest at night, when they could see how few lights there were at the center of their square mile of city.

So, Zzzap said. Maddy Sorensen’s really the Swamp Thing, huh?

“What?”

Swamp Thing. “Anatomy Lesson” by Alan Moore?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is this another television show?”

No, said the wraith. Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m … You know what, forget it. It’s not my fault you’ve got huge holes in your education.

“Fine.”

I was referring to the fact she’s ninety percent nanites or whatever she is.

“How’d you hear about that?”

Dr. Connolly told me about it while I was getting checked out after we got back. We were talking about Freedom and Dr. Sorensen, and then Maddy came up.

“She’s supposed to be keeping it a secret.”

Zzzap nodded. She is. I think she just figured since I was one of the cool kids I’d be hearing about it sooner or later. He turned in the air and looked northwest, toward the hospital. Are you going to tell her?

St. George shrugged. “I don’t know. This is up there with ‘you’ve got cancer’ or ‘your wife is dead’ or that sort of thing. I think if we decide to tell her it needs someone better trained than me.”

I think it’s probably better if it comes from you.

“How do you figure?”

You know she’s got a huge crush on you, right?

“What?”

Yep.

“Ignoring the twice-her-age thing, I thought she was into Freedom.”

The gleaming wraith shook his head. He’s the big brother she always wanted. I think he’s fine with that, too. It’s letting him deal with that rucksack of guilt he’s always carrying around. You’re the one she’s having schoolgirl dreams about.

“I doubt it.”

George, trust me. One thing life in a wheelchair has given me is amazing powers of perception regarding when women are interested or thinking of you as a friend.

St. George chuckled. “Great.”

That’s how I can tell Stealth’s really in love with you.

“What?”

I mean, I could tell at dinner, I just hadn’t figured out who she was. But she’s crazy about you, George.

“Thanks,” he said. “I needed to hear that right now.”

Thought so.

“One question, though.”

Shoot.

“If your powers of perception are