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

a few steps away from the corner of the building, toward the courtyard entrance. She glanced back over her shoulder. “You sure you’re not wearing a diaper?”

Another tight smile crossed Kennedy’s face. “You can check if you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

THE BIG WOMAN aimed one pistol at St. George and one at Madelyn. “Who are you?” she asked. “Where did you come from?”

“Hey,” said St. George, “let’s take it easy.”

“Answer the question,” growled the black man with the beard. He had his shotgun trained on the hero, but from his angle it would be easy for him to shift to Madelyn. He glanced up at Zzzap.

“We’re friends,” said St. George. “I’m hoping we’re all friends here.”

The woman looked over the barrel of her pistol at St. George. She was an inch shorter than him. “Where did you come from?”

“Any chance we could talk about this without guns pointed at us?”

“No,” she said. “Answer the question.”

Want me to take them out? Zzzap hung in the air behind St. George and Madelyn. The bald man with the biker beard and the leather-skinned woman had their shotguns trained on him.

St. George glanced up at the gleaming wraith. “Hang on.”

The big woman glanced up at Zzzap, then back to St. George. “Were those words? What did he say?”

“He’s hard to understand until you get used to him,” said Madelyn.

“Shut up,” snapped the woman. She glared at St. George. “What did he say?”

St. George took in a slow breath. It hissed out of his nostrils as dark smoke. “He wanted to know if he should take out your weapons. I told him to hang on.”

A murmur swept through the crowd as the trails of smoke curled up into the air and were broken apart by sea breezes.

Zzzap waved his hand and twiddled his fingers. The bald man’s shotgun trembled. Farther back in the crowd a few people raised hoes and narrow shovels. One woman even had a pitchfork.

The big woman raised her pistol so it was aimed right between his eyes. “Where,” she said, “did you come from?”

He raised his arm and pointed east. “My friend saw your ships out here the other day. We flew out to say hello and see if you needed any help.”

The leather-skinned woman blinked. “You have a plane?”

St. George smiled. “No.”

“Helicopter?”

“Shut up, Alice,” said the square-shouldered woman. “How did you fly out here?”

“We flew,” said Madelyn. She tipped her head back at Zzzap. “Just like he’s flying right now.”

The gleaming wraith waved again.

“I told you to shut up,” said the woman.

“Okay,” said St. George, “I think it’s time to calm down and stop being rude.”

“In case you didn’t notice,” said the woman, “we have the guns. That means we’re in charge unless you feel like getting shot.”

Zzzap chuckled. Madelyn smirked.

“What’s your name?” asked St. George.

“I ask the questions,” said the woman. “That’s how this works. I ask, you answer.”

“I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“Eliza,” said the bald man with the biker beard.

The woman—Eliza—gritted her teeth.

“Eliza,” St. George said. “Pleased to meet you. Short for anything?”

“None of your business.”

He nodded once. “Eliza, most people these days call me St. George.” He looked past her to the crowd. “I’m guessing some of you may have heard of me as the Mighty Dragon.”

Another murmur went through the crowd, this one closer to a rumble.

Eliza set her jaw. “Nice try,” she said. “Now who are you and how did you get here?”

“I told you,” said St. George. “I’m the Mighty Dragon, and we flew out here to see if you needed any help.”

“They flew,” said Madelyn. “I just sort of piggybacked.”

“You are too young to be the Dragon,” said someone in the crowd, a Middle Eastern–looking man with one of the narrow shovels. He was just holding it at his side, though, not up like a weapon.

Zzzap looked down at St. George. You do look good for your age.

“You’re not helping.”

Sorry.

St. George looked at Eliza. He took in a slow breath and let it mix in the back of his throat. The flames crawled up out of his mouth and rolled over his face to dance in the air.

Her eyes went wide. The bald man’s jaw hung open. A few gasps came from the crowd.

St. George focused on the spot between his shoulder blades and rose three feet into the air. Eliza swung the pistol up to keep him in her sights. He managed to hang there for a few seconds before his lungs emptied out and the flames flickered away. Then he took a deep breath, tilted his head back, and shot a cone of fire into the sky.

People shouted. A few screamed. The bald man’s shotgun sagged to point at the helipad.

St. George sank down and landed in front of Eliza. “The Mighty Dragon,” he said. “Really. Or you can go with St. George. I’ll answer to either of them.”

The pistol relaxed a little. “We’ll see,” she said. She looked at the others. “Who are these?”

St. George tossed a glance over his shoulder. “The glowing guy is Zzzap. I think you’ve seen him a few times in the past couple of days. You’ve probably heard of him, too.”

Hey, everyone, said the wraith. Nice man-made island.

Alice, the leather-skinned woman, snorted.

“And this is Madelyn,” said St. George, “who sometimes goes by Corpse Girl.”

The black man with the shotgun frowned. Eliza’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Y’know,” murmured Madelyn, “I’m really not sure this is such a good idea.”

St. George looked at her. “Go ahead. It’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

He took a small side-step and moved closer to her. “Yeah.”

She sighed, shrugged, and pushed her goggles up onto her forehead. It pulled her hair back from her face, and her white skin gleamed in the sun. She squinted and blinked against the brightness, but managed to get her eyes open. They were dry and chalky after most of a day with no eye drops.

“Zombie!” bellowed the black man. His shotgun shifted from St. George to Madelyn. St. George stepped