by Dean M. Cole
Each member of the group silently acknowledged his words with a nod.
While Team One advanced, Rourke heard a light scuffing sound followed by a muffled string of curse words behind him. He looked back and saw Bill Peterson grimacing as he massaged his right knee.
Seeing Rourke staring at him, the major released the leg and stood straight. He stepped forward in preparation for the next advance. As Bill moved, he waved a hand dismissively. Speaking so that only Rourke could hear him, he said, “Old football injury. Knee gets a hitch in it every now and again. It’ll go away. Always does. I’ll be fine.”
The man didn’t look fine to Rourke. Over the next few minutes, he watched as the major’s limp worsened. During each advance, Peterson was covering their rear, following close behind the group. Because of that, none of the other team members had noticed the man’s building discomfort.
At the next cover point, just as the other team joined them, Rourke surreptitiously glanced at Peterson and then extended a hand toward Vaughn. “My feet are killing me. Any chance we can take a break?”
Bingham muttered something about him being a bloody uphill gardener, whatever that meant.
Apparently, it wasn’t good. Monique turned and glared at the man.
The Wing Commander held his hands out and smiled at the woman. “Lighten up, Colonel Klink. I’m just taking the piss, having the boy on.”
Vaughn turned. “Keep it down, folks.” He gestured at the wing commander. “Cut the shit, Chance.” Then he looked at Rourke and pointed ahead. “There’s a parking garage on this side of the bridge. We’ll rest there.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
“Don’t thank me. We all need a break. Besides, that’ll be our closest approach to the occupied portion of the city. It’ll give me a moment to recon and evaluate our situation.”
They advanced in silence for the next several minutes. The bridge grew closer with each maneuver.
As the fountain started to slide off to their right, the towering column of water jetted hundreds of feet into the sky. They still hadn’t drawn close enough to hear any of the alien robots, so the noise of the thing generated the only sound in a lifeless world.
A north breeze carried its mist along a path that paralleled theirs. It wasn’t close enough to soak them, but it further cooled the air, and Rourke could smell the ozone generated by the spray. It was a welcome relief from the acrid and often foul odors that had assaulted his senses since they’d first emerged from the woods at the base of the mountain.
They closed to within half a block of the bridge. The road began to widen precipitously, forcing them to take longer sprints across wide-open spaces.
A few moments later, the last maneuver carried them to the southern end of the bridge.
Just as Vaughn had promised, a dark opening sat on its left side. The mouth of the subterranean garage entrance yawned skyward like a hungry bird.
Having reached it first, Rourke advanced a few feet down the ramp before pulling up short. A reflection of the sky shone on water that covered the sloping pavement ahead of him.
Vaughn walked past Rourke and extracted a flashlight from his belt. “Shit! Looks like the pumps failed. The water is the same height in here as it is in the lake. Guess it found a way in.” As he spoke, he stooped further and directed the beam of his flashlight into the inky blackness. Only a couple of feet separated the top of the water from the garage’s low ceiling. The light bounced crazily in the narrow darkness beyond, casting curling waves of light across the exposed rooftops of the few vehicles tall enough to protrude from their watery graves.
Scanning the walls of the ramp, Rourke did a double-take as he spotted a half-submerged poster plastered to the wall on one side. The turban-covered head of a gray-haired, bearded man peeked above the gently lapping water. Rourke tilted his head. “That’s an odd slogan for a religious leader.”
Mark glanced over. “Huh? What is?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
The dark skin of the tall astronaut’s forehead puckered. “What the hell? I wasn’t being a dick.”
Eyes flying wide, Rourke held up his hands. “No, no, no.” He pointed at the poster. “This guy said it … I mean, shit. That’s what it says here, above his head.”
Vaughn looked back. “We’ll keep that in mind.” He gestured at the depressed area formed by the ramp. “This is low enough. It’ll work. We’ll take a break here.”
All heads turned and looked up the ramp as the high-pitched whine of a distant electric motor pierced the air, rising above the omnipresent sound of spraying water.
Crouching near the top of the ramp, Rourke could see a narrow sliver of the city to his west, the direction from which the sound was coming. A river-like finger of the body of water extended along his line of sight, delving another half-mile into Geneva. Its gently winding path carried it toward the occupied portion of the ruined metropolis. Roads paralleled each side of the channel. Several arcing bridges spanned the waterway, connecting the two roadways.
As the volume of the noise slowly increased, the members of both teams joined him near the top of the ramp.
The nine of them plus the robot gazed west, crouching along the sidewall, only the tops of their heads extending above ground level. A line of desiccated shrubs ran along the edge of the ramp, providing a measure of concealment.
Rourke peered between the narrow trunks of two leafless shrubs and stared down the waterway, seeking the source of the rising electrical whine. It sounded like a motor, a rather large one.
Several blocks to their west, a large truck rolled out from behind a building, emerging onto the road that ran along the south side of the shoreline, kicking up dust as it approached rapidly.
Rourke’s breath hitched in his chest.
Had they been discovered?
Vaughn grabbed the back of Rourke’s shirt and pulled him down the ramp. “Everyone take cover!” he whispered urgently. “They might be able to see heat.”
Rourke nodded. He knew the man was right. If the eyes of the robots were sensitive to infrared energy, the heat of their human heads would shine like light bulbs.
Still crouched, they quickly descended the ramp, taking cover in the shallow space afforded by the entrance into the watery automotive catacombs.
Rourke’s pounding heart was in his throat. Its pulse raced in his ears. He held his gun tightly in shaking hands.
Looking behind him, he considered whether or not to retreat into the water. It was still quite cool outside. It was early spring. There had not been sufficient time for the water to warm. Likely, it was barely above freezing. Then there was the smell. Oil and other liquids floated on the surface of the water, oozing noxious fumes.
As he began to back toward the polluted mass, Rourke felt a hand on his forearm.
He turned to see Rachel smiling at him reassuringly. “It’s okay, Rourky. I don’t think they saw us. They were still quite a way off.”
After swallowing, he gave her a nod.
The sound of the whining electric motor grew louder. He realized it must be one of the newer electric trucks. Not that it mattered. Electric, diesel, or gas, it was likely occupied by a pair of robots capable of throwing light poles single-handedly … which didn’t bode well for what they could do to the likes of him.
They exchanged nervous glances as the growl of tires on pavement joined the rising noise.
He looked at Rachel from beneath a puckered forehead. “It’s still coming. Doesn’t sound like it’s slowing down either.”
He saw concern in her eyes. She opened her mouth to respond, but Captain Singleton waved for her. “Major Lee. With me.”
She nodded and stepped to his side.
Vaughn waved for BOb to follow. Then he motioned for the rest to hold back.
Eyes widening, Rourke watched as the odd trio low-crawled up the ramp. Reaching the top, two humans raised their heads and snuck a quick peek at the approaching vehicle.
Rourke swallowed.
The dry click it elicited momentarily overtopped the cacophony of his pounding heart.
He exchanged a nervous glance with Monique.
Mark Hennessy leaned toward the trio. “What do you see?”
Angela peered over the colonel’s shoulder. “Wh-What’s it doing?”
Vaughn waved them back. Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. “It’s still coming.”
Rourke’s fingers dug into the side of his weapon. He started to rock back and forth as he cursed under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit! This is nothing like Call of Duty!”
Chapter 20
Lying on his back at the top of the ramp, Vaughn gripped the stock of his M4 assault rifle tightly. Through sheer force of will, he managed to keep his breathing rate in check as he peeked over the wall and eyed the rapidly approaching vehicle again. “Nothing to see here. Turn around, you sons a bitches.”
Rachel stared at him.
He looked at her and nodded. “Still coming.” Then, looking at the robot, he pointed in the direction of the onrushing vehicle. “BOb, if that truck gets within fifty meters, I want you to disable it with your EMP gun.”
Rachel looked at him sharply and then looked at the EMP cannon askance. “You going to put all your eggs in that thing?”
“We need to know what it does to them.”
Rachel looked ready to say more, but Vaughn held up Angela’s much smaller EMP gun. “If BOb’s gun doesn't take them out, I'll shoot them with this.”
“Does it have the range?”
After raising his head to check the vehicle’s progress, he looked at Rachel. “Hell if I know, but at the speed they’re going, their inertia will carry them close enough.” He shrugged and held up the small gun again. “If their backward-assed-bending legs are still kicking, I’ll finish off the bastards with this.”
Rachel turned down the corner of her mouth and nodded. “Okay … Sounds like a plan.” She pointed at the small gun. “Just be damned fast with Noisy Cricket there. Don’t give them a chance to alert their friends.”
Vaughn turned back to the robot. “When the time comes, hit ‘em with max power. It'd be awesome if you took out both the truck and the Necks.”
BOb nodded. His voice acquired a mildly lilted, pompous accent that almost sounded British. “Trust the awesomeness, Captain Asshole.”
Vaughn did a double-take. He’d given the bot specific instructions. This was no time for the thing to start glitching.
Seeing Rachel smirk, he waved a hand. “Never mind that.” He pointed at her M4. “I know your rifle has a silencer, but those rarely live up to the promise of their name. Don’t open fire unless it’s our only option.”
She nodded and then guffawed. “Roger, Captain Asshole.”
Vaughn gave her a pained look. “Et tu, Brute?”
“That'll teach you to program the robot when I’m in earshot.”
Her smile faltered as the sound of the onrushing truck rose to new heights.
Vaughn didn’t want to expose the heat signature of his head, so he gestured at the battlebot. “Your skin temp still maintaining background neutral?”
BOb nodded.
“Good.” He pointed at the ramp’s sidewall. “I want you to slowly move into a firing position there. Keep us updated on its distance.”
Nodding again, the robot raised a few inches and peered over the wall. At the same time, it brought up its EMP cannon and aimed it at the vehicle. “Four hundred meters, sir.”
“A quarter-mile,” Vaughn said. “They’ll turn.”
Rachel cocked an eyebrow. “They better.”
“They will, or they won’t. Either way, we’ll be ready.”
Vaughn and Rachel exchanged nods. She looked like a coiled spring, ready to pounce.
Closing his eyes, Vaughn took a deep breath and then slowly released it. As always happened when potential combat drew near, he felt everything slow down. The pulse pounding in his ears seemed to subside, and his breathing rate halved. A Zen-like silence descended as a quiet calm fell over him. The ever-present sound of the fountain faded into the background. At the same moment, he became acutely aware of the noises generated by his surroundings: the shuffling feet and the heavy breathing of those behind him, the pop of small gravel launched from under the edge of the truck’s tires, the tissue paper-tearing sound of sand and ash spraying up in its wake.
Metal clanked loudly as the rambling vehicle bounced sharply on its hard springs, sounding as if it had run over something in the road.
Other than a steady increase in its volume, the noises coming from the vehicle remained unchanged as it continued to close on their position.
“Two hundred meters,” announced BOb.
Grinding his teeth together, Vaughn growled. “Turn, already.”
“One hundred meters.”
“Shit.” Vaughn prepared to stand. He reached out to tap the robot and order it to fire.
The sound of the vehicle dropped precipitously and then vanished.
“Target has stopped … Standby.” BOb tilted his head curiously. “Vehicle appears empty.”
“Wait … What?”
He exchanged another glance with Rachel.
She shrugged.
BOb looked down. “What are your orders, Captain?”
“Hold your fire.”
Rising slowly, Vaughn peered over the wall.
The truck sat motionlessly a couple of hundred feet from their observation point. Peering over the sights of his rifle, Vaughn stared into the vehicle’s cab. “BOb’s right,” he whispered. “It looks empty.”
Rachel eased into a firing position beside him. Aiming her rifle at the target, she studied the truck through her scope.
“See anything?”
She shook her head. “Looks like it’s empty. Must be a self-driving truck. Judging by the way it’s riding, I think the bed is as empty as the cab.”
“Yeah, I saw that. The thing was bouncing like it had no suspension, like there wasn’t enough weight to compress its springs.”
They both twitched as the electric truck started moving again. It turned left onto a bridge and crossed the narrow channel.
When it reached the opposite bank, it turned left again and headed west, away from them.
Then it stopped once more.
Rachel continued to peer through her scope. She shook her head. “Still don’t see anything.”
BOb suddenly shifted the aim of the EMP cannon. “New targets.”
Turning, Vaughn saw two Necks emerging from a side road. Each carried armloads of scrap steel. Reaching the truck, they tossed the metallic refuse into its bed. It landed with a tremendous crash, and the vehicle lurched under the weight of the impact.
Vaughn released the breath he’d been holding. It was just another scavenging run.
Hearing feet shuffling nervously behind him, he turned and gave the rest of the team a thumbs-up.
Beside him, Rachel blew out a long sigh and rested her head against the stock of her rifle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
For the next few minutes, they watched as the robots and their truck continued west, drawing farther away with each movement.
Finally, the vehicle and the two Necks passed out of sight.
Vaughn ordered BOb to hold position and maintain a lookout. Then he and Rachel eased back from the wall.
As they walked the few steps down the ramp and rejoined the group, Vaughn received a handful of questioning looks.
Angela held her hands out, palms up and mouthed, “What happened?”
Placing a finger over his lips, he waved them into a tight circle.
Rachel hitched a thumb, pointing back over her shoulder. Whispering, she said, “It was an empty self-driving truck.”
“She’s right. The thing was coming back for another load of steel.”
Eyes widening, Rourke looked at him. “Self-driving? One of ours?”
Vaughn nodded.
“Son of a bitch.” Rourke slowly shook h
is head. “They're using our own technology against us?”
“Nothing new, chap,” Bingham said with an exasperated sigh. “The tossers have been doing that since they first latched onto our collider.”
The distant crash of another deposited load echoed off the remnants of the surrounding buildings.
Vaughn gestured over his shoulder. “It’s moved back into the city. There are a couple of Necks loading it up as it goes, but they’ve moved out of sight. We’re clear for now.”
Light flickered outside.
Vaughn glanced toward the top of the ramp and then looked back at the group. “Was that lightn—?”
The tremendous boom of a thunderclap cut off his words and answered his unfinished question with its rolling reverberations.
Vaughn motioned for everyone to hold fast. Returning to the underground garage’s exit, he poked his head out and looked north.
The mountain range that lined the far side of the valley had disappeared, hidden behind a steel-gray curtain of rain. The downpour hung from the billowing black belly of the tumultuous clouds that were slowly invading the region.
Vaughn had been so focused on the bots and their truck, he’d forgotten all about the coming storm. Now he saw that its brassy glare had sapped the last vestige of color from a city already rendered in shades of coal by the inferno that had eaten it.
Lightning split the sky again, a blinding shock of white arcing down from the obsidian wall cloud. It forked silently and pierced the unsuspecting earth miles to his west. As usual, the thunderclap shouted its warning too late.
A moment later, the last of the rumble rolled away, and a new noise rose to replace it.
Vaughn ducked, thinking it the sound of another approaching vehicle, but peering west, he saw nothing moving.
Turning to follow the noise to its source, he looked north. At the far end of the Mont-Blanc Bridge, the charred stubble of a flag at the top of an oddly bent pole started to move. Initially, it fluttered lazily, but then it started flapping like a playing card jammed into the speeding spokes of a child’s bicycle. Beneath it, the branches of a denuded tree began to sway like seagrass caught in manic waves.
