Amplitude

by Dean M. Cole

  Its severed head and shoulders along with part of an arm toppled to the floor and rocked back and forth. BOb leaned over the remnants of the Neck and shouted into its dead face, his voice a near-perfect imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger. “Consider that a divorce!”

  Vaughn grabbed Rourke’s utility belt and yanked him away from the railing, nearly pulling him off his feet. “Fall back! They're overrunning us.”

  “No!” Rourke shouted as he shrugged out of the man’s grasp. He raised his gun and aimed at the next wave of bots. “We can do this! Just keep—”

  “Look!” Vaughn shouted, cutting him off and thrusting a hand over Rourke’s shoulder to point at the far side of the facility. “There's more coming!”

  “Oh, shit! … That's at least a hundred of them!”

  Vaughn fired a burst into another group of robots as they arced toward them. The shots robbed the now-dead bodies of just enough inertia to cause them to fall short of the landing’s metal deck.

  “Doctor Geller, I’d very much appreciate it if you’d follow my orders.” As the captain continued to fire, he tilted his head toward the opposite side of the facility. “There’s probably a thousand or more behind those. We don’t have enough bullets or grenades to kill ‘em all.”

  Vaughn paused long enough to fire into another wave of bots. The dead machines bounced off the side of the railing. The body of one crashed through the gap left by BOb’s gun and then slowly slid off the deck.

  “But if we stay here, we’ll be overrun long before we have a chance to fire a fraction of those rounds.”

  Teddy fired his weapon into the robots and then looked over. “What’s the plan, El Capitan?”

  “I saw a side door just before we reached ATLAS. Fall back to that. It’ll be on your right, just beyond the top of the stairs.”

  Hennessy stopped firing long enough to look back. “Why in the hell didn’t we stop there the first time?”

  Vaughn shrugged and fired at another robot. “We were a bit busy at the time.”

  Peterson pointed up the stairs. “Well, we’re about to be giraffe ass-deep in Necks. I say we go now!”

  Vaughn pursed his lips and shook his head. “I’m so glad you guys all agree.” He grabbed Rourke and shoved him toward the stairs. “Move it already, Doctor. If we're lucky, there’ll be a working network terminal in there.”

  Nodding, Rourke began sprinting up the stairs. Considering its proximity to the facility, he agreed with the captain’s logic. Whatever waited for them beyond that door, it likely tied to the ATLAS experiment either physically or better yet digitally.

  In the short moment it took for Rourke to consider those facts, he passed behind ATLAS’s massive network of pipes and conduits.

  He flinched as shots rang out behind him.

  Then footsteps.

  Looking back, he allowed himself a breath as Bill and Teddy ran through the gap, hot on his heels, followed shortly by Mark and then Vaughn.

  BOb entered the tunnel behind them. Turning, the battle operations bot fired a ray of white light at an unseen attacker.

  At the same moment, Vaughn ran past the others. Then he shot past Rourke and shouted over his shoulder. “I saw the door up here, Geller.”

  Rourke sprinted after the captain.

  Sounding as if it were firing continuously, the high-pitched squeal of BOb’s weapon filled the curving tunnel.

  Actually, the sound went on too long, Rourke realized. It should have already faded.

  Was the thing capable of continuous fire?

  He didn’t think so.

  Instead of dropping, the squeal grew louder.

  Glancing back, Rourke did a double-take at the sight of BOb running backward just behind Major Peterson and Cosmonaut Petrovich. The robot had its weapon trained on targets to their rear, and it was firing periodically, but the sound of it was lost beneath the now cacophonous assault of the high-pitched wail. The noise he'd mistaken for the discharge of the light wave-equipped EMP cannon now took on an all-too-familiar harmonic warble.

  Looking forward, he saw the captain shaking his head. “Fucking Taters! A shit-ton of them this time, coming from both ends!”

  The sound seemed intent on grinding Rourke’s bones to dust.

  “Here it is,” Vaughn shouted. He stepped up to a door in the side of the tunnel and then twisted its latch. The heavy-looking panel swung outward. “Get in!”

  When Rourke hesitated, Vaughn grabbed his arm and shoved him through. Before letting him go, the man scanned the room beyond the door and then gave a quick nod. He shouted into Rourke’s ear, his words just audible above the rising din. “There are too many Taters coming. We'll hold them off as long as we can, but you need to get to a terminal and initiate the overload.”

  Rourke chewed his lip nervously and looked past Vaughn, trying to see what was happening in the tunnel.

  “Goddammit, Geller! For once, do what I say without questioning it!”

  Nodding, Rourke spoke with more confidence than he felt. “I'll get it done, Captain.”

  Vaughn gave him a hard look and then jabbed a pointed finger into his chest plate. “Do it exactly as Angela trained you. Don't get fucking cute!”

  Then the man turned and stepped back into the tunnel. The door closed behind him, and the riotous noises pouring through it suddenly halved.

  Chapter 33

  After closing the door behind the young doctor, Vaughn stepped back and glanced left and right, scanning the tunnel in both directions. He saw no Taters or Necks, meaning none had seen him deposit Rourke into the side corridor. “Thank God for small favors.”

  Mark’s rifle barked to life. “Need a little help over here!”

  Bill and Teddy opened fire. From the sound of it, they were engaging at least two Taters.

  Vaughn shouted in their direction. “Hold them off. I have to help Mark.”

  The two men waved distractedly. Bill Peterson looked back. Sweat glistened on the man’s dark face. “We’ll do the best we can.”

  Nodding, Vaughn turned toward ATLAS and started running. The sound from that direction had an echoing quality to it. The Taters coming from the facility hadn’t yet entered the tunnel.

  The spaghetti tangle of pipes and conduits that led into ATLAS choked this portion of the shaft, blocking all but the passageway that ran along its inner circumference.

  A Neck emerged through the gap and charged straight at Hennessy.

  Vaughn fired a three-round burst into the center of its chest.

  The machine’s arms and legs went limp, and it collapsed to the floor.

  Vaughn slid to a stop next to Mark. He looked at the battlebot. “BOb, switch to rifle. Let the bodies stack up. They’ll block the Taters.”

  “Affirmative, Captain Asshole.”

  Shaking his head, Vaughn pulled the shotgun from the scabbard that ran down the side of his backpack. As he pumped a slug into the chamber, he looked at Mark. “Same to you. Single shots now.”

  His friend threw a questioning look his way and then shouted over the droning drives of the approaching Taters. “Shouldn’t we try to lead them away?”

  Vaughn glanced back toward Bill and Teddy and saw them firing multiple rounds. Then he looked at Mark and shook his head. “We have to hold this position. Gotta give Rourke time to complete the overload. If we draw them down the tunnel, a thousand more will come in behind them.” He gestured toward the closed door. “They’ll start searching the corridors.” He shook his head. “Can’t let that happen. We have to keep the Necks at bay.”

  Mark dispatched another robot and then glanced toward the side door. “What makes you think they aren’t already searching the corridors?”

  Vaughn looked at the door and furrowed his brow. “Well, fuck. Thanks for that.”

  Another Neck charged into the passageway.

  Vaughn turned and fired a shot into its torso.

  The slug blasted a massive hole through the over-eager bastard’s chest. The machine fell to
the floor, landing on top of one of its dead comrades.

  “Goddamn! That felt good!” He looked at Mark and shrugged. “We’ll just have to hope Rourke finishes his job before the Necks get too industrious.”

  Nodding grimly, Mark patted the empty pouches on his vest. “Getting low on munitions.” The man snapped his rifle up and took down two more Necks.

  Vaughn killed a third. He pumped another round into the shotgun’s chamber. “Me, too.” He glanced over his shoulder. “BOb, load us up with ammo and then go top up Major Peterson and Cosmonaut Petrovich.”

  Holding his weapon and firing single-handedly, BOb rummaged through his backpack with his free arm, bending it in an unanatomical direction. While the battlebot worked, it kept nailing enemy robots with precise single shots targeted to their heads.

  As Neck after Neck dropped, the battlebot chanted the same phrase repeatedly in a harsh whisper: “Let the robots hit the floor. Let the robots hit the floor.” Then BOb raised his voice. “Let the robots hit the … Floor!” He shouted the last part. Then screaming guitar music streamed from the bot’s mouth speaker. All the while, BOb continued to extract munitions from its backpack, distributing them to Mark and Vaughn smoothly, without missing a shot.

  As he accepted the offered magazines and stuffed them into his pouches, Vaughn recognized the song as a modified version of Drowning Pool’s Bodies. He smiled inwardly. It was a hard-rockin’ song that his mom would’ve loved.

  Blaring hard rock music in the middle of a battle wasn’t exactly a sound tactic, but the thing was a prototype that hadn’t been released for full combat duty. However, all things considered, Vaughn thought BOb was doing a pretty damned good job, Captain Asshole and all. Besides, at this point, he couldn’t give two shits about stealth. The whole goddamn robot world already knew where they were.

  Screw it. He patted the bot on the shoulder. “Play it loud, BOb!”

  The volume increased. Banging its head, the bot sang the refrain as it continued to pour fire into the enemy with one hand and distribute munitions with the other. “Let the robots hit the floor. Let the robots hit the floor!”

  Vaughn stuffed a final magazine into his vest. “Nice!” He pointed toward the other end of the tunnel. “Now go reload the others. We’ll hold this end.”

  As BOb ran to Bill and Ted’s end of the tunnel, he pumped a fist overhead. “Let the robots hit the … Floor!”

  Bouncing his head to the beat, Vaughn raised his rifle and poured fire into the endless stream of invading Necks.

  While the battlebot had reloaded Mark and Vaughn, it had done an excellent job against the enemy robots. The bodies had indeed hit the floor. Dead Necks now sat four and five deep across the tunnel’s entire breadth.

  Vaughn shot another one. Its pancake-like head flew into the air, and its lifeless body collapsed, adding to the heap.

  Did it mean the end for the Neck?

  Were the robots actually dying?

  Did they experience real death, or did their consciousness upload to a new machine?

  Vaughn sure as hell hoped not. He was taking a great deal of satisfaction in the thought that each kill represented a small payback for the Hell that these bastards had put them through, literally. He was doling out justice for the billions of lives they’d taken—trillions when you considered the bastards had killed all animal life on the planet.

  Vaughn glanced at the doorway. He kept hoping to hear the ramping-up power of an impending overload, but none came.

  What the hell was Rourke doing back there?

  A Neck emerged through a gap, crawling over its fallen comrades.

  Mark placed a bullet in its head, and it fell limp.

  Their tactic appeared to be working. No Taters had entered the tunnel from ATLAS. Vaughn and Mark were making the most of their limited ammunition. One shot-one kill. However, they were slowly being backed up by the continuous onslaught of new arrivals. Every time the bodies threatened to clog the tunnel entirely, another wave would yank back a few of them and begin to scramble through.

  Looking over his shoulder, Vaughn saw the same was happening on the other end of their battle. The Taters were slowly pushing back Bill and Teddy.

  Exploding grenades, shotgun blasts, and dozens of rifle shots shredded the smoky atmosphere.

  No Necks approached from their end, but the carcasses of dead Taters were stacking up.

  The high-pitched wail of BOb’s modified weapon echoed loudly in the ever-shrinking space.

  Vaughn frowned. “BOb! Keep using your rifle!”

  The bot shook its head. “Out of ammo.”

  It looked over its shoulder and held up the modified EMP cannon. “And the BFG is overheating.”

  “Shit!” Vaughn glanced at the door to the side corridor.

  Where was the overload?

  BOb raised the cannon and fired at a Tater that had drawn dangerously close to Bill and Teddy.

  The white ovoid vanished.

  Vaughn saw several lights on the side of the modified weapon shift to red.

  BOb holstered the cannon across its back. After giving Vaughn a short nod, the bot turned and leaped toward the nearest of the remaining Taters, clenched fists held high overhead. Before it could land the blow, a white light shot out from the belly of the targeted craft and BOb vanished.

  In the ensuing silence, Vaughn heard a new sound.

  He looked at Mark with widening eyes. “He’s doing it!”

  “What?”

  Vaughn pointed to his own ear. “That’s the sound of an overload. Rourke must’ve found a working terminal!”

  “He’s overloading the collider?”

  Vaughn nodded, but the smile faded from his face. He remembered the wave of fire that had erupted from the back of the ATLAS experiment when Angela had overloaded it. The wormhole had enveloped them before the churning plasma could. He was pretty sure a successful reset would restore all of them to the timeline, but he didn’t know if it would be this version of them that returned if they died.

  These weren’t new thoughts.

  Vaughn had agonized over the issue ad nauseam since they’d set off on this mission.

  He shrugged. It would be what it would be.

  Looking back, he saw Taters pressing in on Bill and Teddy.

  “Mark! Go shore up the other end. I’ll keep my finger in the dam here.”

  Sweating profusely, Mark gave him a short nod. “See you on the other side, friend.”

  As the sound of the building power levels continued to rise, Vaughn nodded and tried for a confident grin. “It shouldn’t be long, buddy.”

  Mark returned the wry smile. Then he gave the conduit a nervous glance. He’d heard the stories about the collider exploding at the end of their last reset.

  After bumping fists, the two men parted.

  Vaughn continued to pump single shots into the head of each Neck as they appeared in the opening.

  Behind him, the battle raged with ear-splitting intensity.

  A trio of grenade launches echoed off the walls.

  The sharp cracks of multiple rifle shots pierced the air.

  Another Neck poked its flat head into the gap between the top of the piled bodies and the ceiling. Vaughn did the robot the favor of placing a slug right in the center of its disc-shaped head. The Neck went limp, dying on the top of the pile.

  Vaughn flipped it the bird. “How’s that lead taste, Fucker?”

  He blinked as the decapitated Neck and several of its equally dead comrades flew backward, yanked bodily from the heap.

  A massive insectile head poked through the opening.

  After an involuntary backward step, Vaughn raised his shotgun again and aimed at the mechanical monstrosity.

  The slug ricocheted off the head, leaving only a faint scratch.

  White carapaces shattered under the churning legs of the caterpillar bot. The large, fearsome machine began to inch through the opening.

  Vaughn tried to rack another round, but the
shotgun was empty.

  After sliding the depleted weapon back into its scabbard, he pulled out his rifle again. He shifted his hand to its grenade launcher and fingered its trigger. The exterior of the Taters had proven soft enough to absorb most of the explosive force that hit them. However, the caterpillar's hard metals and sharp angles would direct much of the explosion outward. The deflected blast would likely damage the collider.

  Vaughn shook his head. Not an option.

  The guns behind him fell silent.

  Taking advantage of the gap, he shouted over the collider’s rising whine as he continued to back away from the multi-legged robot. “We’ve got company!”

  No one responded.

  “Guys—!” Turning, Vaughn came face-to-face with a hovering Tater.

  Dropping back a step, he yanked his M4 assault rifle, swinging its muzzle around to fire on the bastard. He squeezed the trigger, loosing a short burst at the Tater.

  Two of the rounds stitched holes in the left side of the machine’s body.

  However, before Vaughn could hit the thing center of mass, white light shot from the Tater’s emitter.

  Chapter 34

  Hands held over tortured ears, Rourke stared at the computer terminal’s display.

  He’d done everything just as Angela had prescribed. However, the buildup seemed to be taking much longer than what he had expected, given the descriptions shared by both her and Captain Singleton.

  Glancing upward, he stared into the cloud-covered sky. It hung low above the pit’s opening which, itself, sat a hundred meters above Rourke’s head.

  He cast a furtive glance toward the doorway that had led him there. A wave of Necks was sure to sweep through it at any moment.

  After Vaughn had pushed him from the collider tunnel, Rourke had passed back through another pair of security booths. He’d wandered through seemingly endless corridors, searching for a workstation in a fruitless, horror-filled trek. The smell of death permeated that portion of the facility.

  Visions of stacked bodies had filled Rourke’s head. He’d felt pretty silly when he’d discovered the source to be an open refrigerator full of rotted and spoiled food. It had been in a break room replete with reminders of what they’d lost during the Great Disappearance, as Vaughn called it.