Ex-Patriots Read Free Page B

full
suits?”
    “Yup.”
    “Not a great number,” said Billie.
    “No,” agreed the hero.
    “Half the folks just want to wear their
leathers anyway,” said Jarvis. “This whole armor idea still ain’t
going over that well.”
    “It’s too damned hot for leather,” said
Billie. “Either people don’t wear it or get heat exhaustion from
it.”
    “Tell Rocky he gets chicken for dinner
tonight if he can finish one more set before we leave,” said St.
George. “He’s got my word on it.”
    “Hell,” said Jarvis, “for a whole chicken
I’ll make the damned sleeves myself.”
    “What if he doesn’t?” asked Billie.
    “Then we’ll have to make do with what we’ve
got.”
    “Does that mean cutting three people or
having three people go without armor?”
    St. George wrinkled his brow. “Let me think
on that one.”
    They stepped out into the morning light and
took a moment to adjust their sunglasses. Off to their right was
the Lemon Grove gate, and St. George reached up to rub the
blade-like tooth on his jacket as he looked that way. “I’m going to
check in with Zzzap and Stealth. I’ll meet both of you at Melrose
in thirty.”
    Jarvis nodded and loped away. St. George was
about to leap into the air when Billie touched his arm. She
gestured down the road.
    A thin, shaved-bald man waited there with the
little girl who’d cut St. George’s bangs. When the man realized
they’d seen him he switched the girl’s fingers to his other hand
and gave an awkward salute. He walked forward, still holding his
hand up, pulling the little girl behind him. He wore a pair of
fingerless gloves.
    The hero waited for the salute to drop and
then shook the hand. “You were the one who actually won the
drawing, right?”
    “Yeah,” said the man. He was young, twenty
tops, and spoke with an anxious, eager voice. His bare arms were
decorated with tattoos, and the hero could see the prominent number
on the left shoulder. “Andrea’s my niece. She’s wanted to meet you
since we moved up here.”
    “You were with the Seventeens?”
    “Was in, yeah,” the young man said, “but I’m
out now. I’m Cesar. Cesar Mendoza.”
    Behind him, St. George heard Billie’s boots
shift. “Good to meet you, Cesar,” he said, pumping the hand again.
“You’ve got a beautiful niece.”
    “Hell-o,” the little girl sang. She waved and
ducked behind Cesar, blushing again.
    “Yeah, I know,” the young man said. “Look, I
was wondering... could I talk to you for a couple of minutes about
something?”
    “Is it urgent?”
    Cesar shrugged. “I mean, it’s not life or
death,” he said. “Just wanted to talk about some stuff.”
    “What kind of stuff?”
    “Just... you know.” He shot a glance at
Billie. “Stuff. Just something I need to get off my chest, you
know?”
    “D’you get bitten?”
    “What? No!”
    “Kill somebody?” asked Billie.
    “No!”
    “Steal something?”
    “No! Well... no, not for like two years.
Honest, man, nothin’ like that.”
    “Can’t be too pressing, then,” St. George
said with a smile. He clapped a hand on Cesar’s shoulder. “I’ve got
a few things I need to take care of before we head out, but maybe
later. I’ll be around all day tomorrow if nothing comes up.”
    The young man nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed.
“Yeah, tomorrow’d be cool. Thanks, man.” He hefted the little girl
into his arms. “Say bye,” he told her.
    “Good-bye,” she sang, waving at them.
    “Still don’t trust any of those people,”
murmured Billie as they walked away.
    “Those people?” echoed the hero.
    “Don’t play the PC card,” she said. “Less
than a year ago the Seventeens were trying to kill us. Now we’re
sharing supplies with them.”
    “They’re sharing with us, too, don’t forget.
Chickens, eggs, a hell of a lot more fruits and veggies.”
    She shrugged. “Okay,” she said, “if you think
they’re so trustworthy why aren’t any of them scavengers or walking
the wall