Ex-Isle by Peter Clines (electronic reader TXT) 📕

COSTUME WAS junk at this point. Gone. The suit and cape were both ruined. I’d lost one of the gloves—it fell out of my pocket while I was helping to clean out the studio. I’m guessing the Mighty Dragon mask was still up on the roof at Hollywood and Highland, but I’d been busy and hadn’t seen a point to going back for it.

It took some work to find the right jacket. Stealth was right. I needed something more durable to wear, especially if we were going to keep heading out into the city. About ninety percent of the jackets I found were heavy, black biker things, though. Lots of snaps and straps and…well, black. Much more her style. Or Gorgon’s.

The brown flight jacket suited me better. It was a little easier on the eyes, not quite so harsh. The leather was a bit softer, too, so I’d be patching it more. But it was worth it to not look like some kind of super-SWAT cop or motorcycle gang member.

Plus, yeah, it’s a little Indiana Jones. Not a bad thing for anyone.

So, the costume was gone. The closest thing I had to it was the red Henley I had on under the leather jacket. I was hoping the splash of bright color would help remind people who I’d been.

I stood near the examination tents and wondered if I looked inspiring or reassuring at all.

I’d been there for about half an hour. Some people looked at me like I was a nut. Some recognized me from rescuing them and thanked me again. I’d like to think the positives were in the lead.

And just as I was thinking this, a shout came from the Melrose Gate. Then another one. I could see people moving there. Someone had come through the gate, and the guards were jumping into action.

I leaped into the air. I could get up about thirty or thirty-five feet and glide about three hundred if the wind was right. It was enough to carry me to the gate. I could look down and see a lot of it before I landed.

Three people. Man, woman, girl in her teens. The women helped the man stay on his feet. He was in the middle of a coughing fit and had one arm close to his body. The guards at the gate all had their guns trained on him.

“It’s okay,” the woman was saying. The man tried to say something, but she talked over him. Pretty much yelled over him. “He’s okay. Just leave him alone.”

I hit the cobblestones and heads turned. Costume or no, somebody dropping out of the sky commands attention. “What’s going on?”

One of the guards, Derek, made a little wave at the man with his rifle. “Infected.”

“He’s not infected,” said the woman.

“He’s not that bad,” added the teenager. She looked enough like both of them I felt safe calling her their daughter.

“Once it’s cleaned up, you’ll see,” said the woman. “It’s nothing.” She was edging toward hysterical. Maybe three good steps away from it.

The man…the father coughed again and looked at me. His family might’ve been in denial, but he wasn’t. He’d been expecting this. He’d accepted it.

That’d make this easier.

“Let’s put the guns down,” I said. I stepped forward and put myself between the family and as many guards as I could. “We’re not trying to scare anyone.”

Another guard, a black man with dreadlocks, glanced past me at the father. “Yeah, but he’s defin—”

“I’ve got this,” I told him.

His eyes opened a little wider, and his chin went up just a bit. Understanding and relief, all at once. He nodded, let his rifle swing down to the pavement, and turned away just enough from the man to make it clear he wasn’t considered a threat anymore.

I waited until they’d all aimed their rifles somewhere else before I turned to the father. “Hi,” I said. “I’m George.” I held out my hand.

The father smiled a little. His shoulders relaxed. “Bryan,” he said. “With a y.” He reached out and shook my hand. His palm was warm and clammy. I saw the spots of blood on his other sleeve that the guards had seen. We’d all seen it a bunch of times over the past few months. Blood seeping up from underneath and into the fabric. A bite someone was trying to hide.

I let go of his hand. “Can you and I talk for a couple of minutes?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We probably should.”

“No,” hissed the woman. She put a hand on his good arm, and I saw a glint of gold on her finger. Husband and wife with their daughter. “Don’t let them—”

“We’re just going to talk,” he told her. His voice caught, like he was holding back another cough. He looked at me. “Just talking, right?”

I nodded. “Just talking. I promise.”

His wife swallowed and took her hand off his arm. He wobbled, then glanced at me. “Could I get a little help?”

“Do you need to lean on me?”

“That’d be good.”

I slung his arm up around my neck and did the same to him. Two old friends. Heat rolled off him. If he wasn’t so pale, I’d think his whole body was sunburned. This close I could smell it on him. A bit of stomach acid from throwing up, and under that was the hot, dark smell of someone who was really sick.

We walked away from the gatehouse, past the parking lot, and stopped by one of the big planters. I eased him down so he could lean against it. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Bryan said. “Thanks.”

“You sure?”

He let out a long breath. His shoulders slumped. “I just…Jesus, I didn’t think…I didn’t want them to gun me down in front of my family.”

“They wouldn’t’ve,” I told him. “They were just nervous, that’s all.”

He nodded and coughed. This time it was a deep, rattling cough. When he took his hand away from his mouth, there were splatters of blood on his palm.

“How long ago?” I asked him.

He sighed and pushed his sleeve up. There