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

be a key part of Eden’s defenses you’ll want a full crew behind it.”

Danielle nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “And we’ll be able to get more done if we can split maintenance and actual work between us.”

St. George glanced at Stealth. She made no move to respond. “I can’t promise anything,” he said. “It’s kind of tight up there. It’s going to take some work to make extra people fit.”

“If it helps,” said Gibbs, “I could pull a few shifts on guard duty.” He waved his hand toward the prosthetic foot. “I can’t do the half marathon anymore, but I can still walk a patrol and pull a trigger.”

“We’ll see,” said St. George. “Let me talk to Captain Freedom and some of the Eden people. It might not be great, but I bet we can work something out.”

“This is going to be awesome,” said Cesar. He bounced on his heels again. His eyes went from Danielle to Gibbs and back. “Freakin’-A.”

“Freakin’?” St. George raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, I got a little niece, I gotta set a good example, right? That’s what superheroes do?” His eyes went wide. “Damn. I need to tell my sister I can’t babysit next week.”

ST. GEORGE PUSHED off the floor and sailed up to the next landing of the stairwell. The fire door there was propped open with a cinder block. At some point in the past, one of the other residents had spray-painted it grass green.

Like most of the living quarters in the Mount, his home had started out as something else—in this case, a large office for one of the sub-companies of the film studio. Their publicity department, judging from the packages of postcards and mini-posters he’d found in the closets.

When they’d first moved into the Mount, every room in every building had been converted and occupied. They’d needed all the living space they could get. With the closets emptied, the desks and filing cabinets cleaned out, and a few extra pipes run, most of the offices served as passable apartments.

Once the Big Wall went up, though, people moved back out into the city. After almost three years behind the studio walls, some folks couldn’t resist the idea of windows and trees and across-the-street neighbors. And with the depleted population, there were houses and luxury apartments for anyone who wanted them.

The Zombocalypse had really turned Los Angeles into a buyer’s market.

St. George hadn’t seen a point in moving. His office-apartment was more than twice the size of the little studio he’d had before the dead started to walk, and he still had more space than he needed. Now he had the floor to himself, and shared the building with two other singles and a couple.

Plus, he’d come to see the Mount as his home. He’d managed to rescue a few things from his old studio and added a few more since then. It was roomy, it was his, and he couldn’t picture himself living anywhere else.

He fished the lone key from his pocket and opened the door.

The light was on. The one by the couch in the living room. He’d found it in the back warehouse of a Big Lots store two years back or so. The tall torch could blast light against the ceiling, but it also had a small reading lamp that branched from its trunk. The light sent a wide shadow from the overstuffed chair to his feet.

He hadn’t left it on when he left this morning.

“I’m home,” he said to the air.

“Did they agree to your terms?”

The kitchen had looked empty when he stepped in, but Stealth stood there now. Her mask was gone, her black hair pulled back tight against her head. Her dark skin gleamed in the soft light. She’d traded her body armor and cloak for a pair of dark slacks and a red Henley.

For his red Henley, St. George noted with a small degree of pleasure. It was two sizes too large for her. She made it look fashionable and sexy and elegant.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s still the truth.”

Her mouth made the ever-so-faint curve he’d come to recognize as her smile. “Did they agree?”

“Yes,” he said. He slipped out of the biker jacket and hung it near the door. “Les wasn’t happy, but he understands the situation. He’d rather have one less farmer for a week than have everyone up there feel like they’ve been left to fend for themselves.”

“I believe he is now asking people to refer to him as Lester.”

“Right. Force of habit.”

Les Briggs had managed a community garden on the edge of Koreatown before the ex-virus swept across the city. He’d been one of the guiding forces behind the garden at the Mount. Stealth had known what staples they needed, but Les had known what they could grow in their half acre of scavenged potting soil and how they needed to grow it. When Eden had been proposed, he was the first choice to lead it. He’d been up there a dozen times already and spent the night for half of them.

And he’d insisted people start calling him Lester if he was going to be in charge. It was an odd quirk, and it worried St. George a bit. It wouldn’t be the first time responsibility changed someone.

“Anyway, he’s going to bump one of his people and they’re going to give Danielle the big room in the main building for now. He says they can work around her for a week without too much trouble.” St. George set his heel on the floor and pried his boot off. “To be honest, I think he just wants to show off Eden to someone new.”

“Danielle will refuse such an offer.”

“Yeah, I know. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. I’m still not sure how many people know about her…issues.” He set his toes against the heel of the second boot and worked it off his foot.

“She kept it hidden because of her ability to move