She said nothing.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed Cerberus from below. With the suit’s speakers at full volume she was louder than a bullhorn. The voices quieted.
“A year ago,” she continued, “we’d barely been in the Mount for eight months. We were all still working around the clock just to make this place livable. There was no time for fun. No time for celebration. It was all about survival.” She paused and let the echo of her voice fade. “And not all of us survived.”
The crowd murmured its agreement, and a few more bottles were raised.
“So this year, we wanted to make sure everyone remembered the day and everyone had time to celebrate. We’re alive. We’re together. Happy Fourth of July.”
There was a rumble of thunder and a bright red flower of light filled the sky. A moment later a white blossom appeared next to it, followed by a blue one. Cheers rose and spread out across the Mount. Hundreds of children screamed with joy. The lights faded and four more bursts went off in a row. The sharp thunderclap of a distant cannon echoed in the sky.
Barry’s voice came over the radio again. “I thought you said you were going to do the President’s speech from Independence Day?”
“No,” said Cerberus, “you kept saying I should do it. I ignored you.”
“That’s such a great speech.”
“Weren’t you about to blow up again or something?”
Above the Mount, the night sky lit up with another burst of light. The applause echoed for blocks. St. George keyed his mic again. “How long do you think you can keep this up?”
“I can probably do another ten or twelve like this,” said Barry, “maybe a dozen quick ones as a grand finale. You can’t have fireworks without a finale.”
“Not going to be too much for you?”
“I had a big dinner.” Two more bursts lit up the sky, followed by another thunderclap. “Besides, this is totally worth it for the view. I can see most of North America. The top of South America, too, I think.”
“Wow,” said Cerberus. “How high up are you?”
“Pretty high. I just dodged a satellite.”
“Wait,” said St. George. He looked up at the sky and tried to spot Barry’s gleaming form between the stars. “You’re out in space?”
“Technically, yeah,” Barry said over the speaker, “but I was joking about the satellite. I’m right about at the Karmann Line.”
“Are you... okay with that?”
“Well, it’s not like I need to breathe or anything. And this way we’ve got the ozone layer between me and Earth, just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“Hey, I’m letting off a lot of energy here. Some of it’s going to slip into the more dangerous wavelengths. Can’t be helped.”
“It is a wise precaution,” said Stealth. She’d listened on her own earpiece without looking away from the Mount’s defenses. “As you were, Zzzap.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Barry. They could all hear his grin. A pair of gold flowers exploded across the sky and another cheer came from below.
St. George looked up at the display and pretended not to watch the woman next to him.
“If it matters so much to you that I take part,” she said, not lifting her gaze, “please just say so.”
He shrugged. “I just think it would be good for you, too. You need a morale boost as much as anyone else. Maybe more.”
“I do not find it as easy as some to set aside my responsibilities for a few hours of frivolous entertainment,” said Stealth. “Especially to celebrate the anniversary of a country which, in most senses, no longer exists. There are always more pressing concerns.” She looked out across the dark metropolis.
He followed her gaze. Each burst of light illuminated the city. Beyond the high walls of the Mount, past the barricaded gates and the rows of abandoned cars in the streets, he could see the other inhabitants of Los Angeles.
The ex-humans.
The more distant ones staggered aimlessly. Closer to the Mount, where they could see the guards, they clawed at barriers and reached through gates. They made slow swipes with emaciated fingers. Not one of them reacted to the thunderclaps. Not one of them looked up at the brilliant display in the nighttime sky.
Not one of them was alive.
From the top of the water tower he could see tens of thousands of the walking dead—maybe hundreds of thousands—stumbling through the streets in every direction. During the flashes of light, he could pick out some with twisted limbs and many more stained with blood.
The sounds of celebration and the echo of Zzzap’s fireworks almost hid the chattering. The constant noise that reached everywhere in Los Angeles, that echoed off every building and down every street. The mindless click-clack of dead teeth coming together again and again and again.
If Stealth’s estimates were correct—and they almost always were—there were just over five million of them within the borders of the city.
St. George sighed. “You can really kill the mood sometimes, you know that?”
“My apologies.”