LZR-1143 (Book 4): Desolation by Bryan James Page A

today.”  
    I took her in my arms again, wanting to tell her that we’d find her. That she would celebrate another birthday. That she had doubtlessly survived for this one.
    But the platitudes echoed of false hope, even in my head.  
    Kate was right. It did seem impossible.

    ***
    “You’re just wrong. Admit it. We’d all be better off.”
    The dust swirled in the large room as we hoisted our packs onto the long, filthy bar to do a final check of our pack-outs before leaving.
    “You know what? You think you know everything, but you don’t! What you’re saying doesn’t. Make. Sense.”  
    Her voice was high, and shrill, and she was upset.  
    I sighed.  
    “I’m going to explain for your tiny little bird brain one last time, and then we’re done, understand? The suit came from Krypton. It was imbued with the same extraterrestrial power that Superman had. The bullets never made holes in the suit because they couldn’t make holes in Superman.”
    Behind me, Kate shook her head and snorted once.
    Very ladylike. I looked at her and she put her hands up, as if trying to stay neutral.
    Nice try, but your position has been revealed.
    “So what you’re saying is that the fabric was alive, just like Superman. That it adapted to the yellow sun of Earth, and that his underwear became super underwear. That the fabric was just like him—some sort of adaptable alien. Is that what you’re saying?”
    “I’m saying that it was from Krypton and they made their shit for real.”
    “Okay, how about this—why doesn’t he have a huge beard and really long nails?”
    “What?”  
    “Same inconsistencies,” she said cockily, pulling her pack off the bar and shrugging into the straps.  
    “Why doesn’t he have long hair and nails? If he’s invincible, how does he cut them? Can’t use clippers or scissors or get a haircut, right?”  
    “He’s Superman, he can zap ‘em with his eye lasers.”
    “What about Zod?”
    I sighed. “You’re rolling too fast—what does Zod have to do with this?”
    “He’s the same as Superman, right? Strong, fast, all that?”
    “Yes, so …”
    “When they fight, Zod can’t damage Superman, can he? I mean they both just pummel each other. It takes Kryptonite to kill one of them. But more importantly, when Zod zaps Superman with his eye lasers, they don’t cut him or his suit or his hair. And Superman can’t damage himself any more than Zod can damage him, right? Same powers, same invincibility.”
    “I don’t…” Something told me she was on to something. I hate it when this happens.  
    Just like the squirrel all over again.
    “Which means…” she went on, clearly enjoying herself.  
    Kate charged her M-4 discreetly near the door, and I could hear her smile as the kid continued to school me.  
    “…That Superman couldn’t possibly have the ability to cut his own hair or nails. If he is utterly invincible, that includes his normal bodily functions—he is physically incapable of self-grooming.”
    “So your take is that he should be naked, hairy and long-nailed?”
    She smiled broadly.
    “Ideally.”
    “Gross.”
    “Yes, but consistent.” She raised a single finger and winked at me, cocky and sure of herself. “That’s the key.”
    I glanced at Kate as I clipped my rifle to my chest rig and shrugged into my heavy pack. It was a short trip to the truck, but you had to be ready to run.  
    “I don’t like your take on Superman,” I muttered, passing them and moving to the door, past the crude posters and crumbling wall paper advertising half-off drinks on Tuesdays.
    “Not my fault. I call ‘em as I see ‘em,” she said.
    The street was clear as I peered into the haze; I checked my watch briefly to assess the daylight remaining. Three in the afternoon. Enough time to get across the river in daylight and move past the area before night fell. Once we had the cover of darkness, we could try to press north through several towns, hopefully allowing the