by Nick Petrie
She heard banging and swearing from the flat roof of the gatehouse, two stories up. They sounded busy up there. She didn’t want to call out. Then she heard two loud gunshots. A moment later, she heard strange zips overhead, and her phone buzzed with a text.
Taking fire, very hairy. Building full of armed monsters. Get out of here and take cover.
Fuck that, she thought. I’m right below. East side of bldg. Happy to go home and bake cookies, but taking all these nice guns with me.
Leave the guns and go! Not safe! Stay hidden! It wasn’t like Peter to use all those exclamation points.
Not leaving without you and Lewis. She looked at the cinder-block face of the building. The mortar joints were worn deep enough to make good finger holds. Many were wide enough for toe holds, even in her hiking boots. She’d climbed worse rocks. If you need an escape route, I have good rope. Can come to you.
A head appeared over the edge of the building. Just a silhouette against the sky, but she recognized Peter’s shaggy mop of hair. He waved her away. She smiled and waved back.
Then a doubled rope snaked down from the roof, and Peter dropped down in a quick and dirty rappel. He landed and popped the thin rope to tell Lewis he’d landed, then leaned in and kissed her hard on the mouth. He tasted like uncut grass and she wanted to kiss him forever. He put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Where’s the car?”
She pointed north. “Past the next building. In the trees.”
Boots scuffed on masonry overhead and Lewis descended in three big bounds, then pulled the rope down and coiled it. His teeth flashed white when he saw the black duffels. He squeezed her shoulder, slung one bag over his shoulders without the slightest clank from all that heavy metal, and slipped into the cattails, headed directly away from the cinder-block tower. Peter took the second duffel and held out a hand. Always the gentleman.
They ran across the empty road and through more cattails thick in the ditch, then into the high broad-leafed grass, where they crouched under a lone tree in the verdant sheltering gloom with the cool wind on their faces and the western sky turning crimson. June felt high and wild, like playing ghost in the graveyard when she was a kid.
Lewis knelt at the open duffel, hauling out camouflage vests with armor plates. June’s didn’t fit very well. She wondered if they had armor designed for a woman’s body. Peter checked her straps, Velcroed a holstered pistol to the front, then handed her a helmet and showed her how to adjust the night vision gear attached to the front. Lewis opened the other bag and handed out deadly looking assault rifles and magazine after magazine of ammunition.
Peter looked at Lewis and whispered, “Are you planning an assault on the federal reserve? How much of this shit do you have?”
Lewis gave him a look. “White man has a buncha guns, he’s a patriot. Why’s a black man always got to be a criminal or a revolutionary?”
“Technically,” Peter said, “you are a criminal. Or you were, anyway.”
“In my heart, I’m still gunning for gangsters.” Lewis flashed the smile again, wider this time. “Why I like running with you. But gotta admit lately I been thinking on the revolution.” He turned to June and scanned her gear. “You sure you okay? Won’t be no picnic.”
She hadn’t done any training with the rifle. She gave it back to him. “I’d just be a hazard with this thing. I’m good with the pistol. When do we go?”
“Depends on Oliver. What’s the word?”
“I keep sending him updates, including the address two hours ago, but I’ve heard nothing back all day.” June checked the black phone and shook her head. “Still nothing. What do we do?”
Then she caught movement in the corner of her eye and turned to the big seventies-era building. She pointed through the cattails. “Corner window facing the gatehouse, second floor.”
The blinds had gone up and a big figure stood in the frame, looking across the entry gate at the two-story tower. He wore a white dress shirt, now blotched dark. He put his hand to his mouth like he was eating peanuts.
June fell backward onto her butt with her heart thumping like a bass drum. She was afraid he could hear it across the street and through a closed window. She drew her pistol and put Edgar in the sights.
“Don’t shoot.” Peter put his hand on the barrel and pushed it down. His voice was soft but firm. “You’ll draw those things to us. We need to stay hidden for now.”
June lowered the gun and tried to catch her breath. She couldn’t take her eyes off the window. She watched as Edgar took a drink of water from a plastic bottle, then leaned close to the glass and peered from side to side and down to the ground. He was looking for them, she thought. Looking for her.
Then he turned away and was gone.
Lewis leaned in close. “We got you, June. He won’t make it through us.”
She nodded. “Then let’s get moving. I’m going to finish what I started with that fucker.” Bent low, she began to head north through the thick grass. In a hundred yards, she’d be out of line of sight of the entry drive and Holloway’s creatures.
“Hold up,” Peter said. “June, I really think you should wait here.”
She turned back to face him. “There’s no fucking way I’m going to sit on my ass in the goddamn bushes in the goddamn dark waiting to find out if you two get shot or killed, not knowing when Edgar might show up.”
“June,” he said. “Please.”
She could see the pain on his face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen fear in his eyes, if she ever had. She grabbed his vest and pressed her mouth to his. “You will protect me, Peter. I know you will. But I’m going with you. Edgar is inside my goddamn head. I have to end this.”
He looked at her wordlessly. She kissed him again, then bit his lip hard, tasting blood.
“Besides,” she said. “I know how you can get into that building without fighting off those hyena things. But you won’t do it without me.”
67
PETER
Peter used the multi-tool from his go-bag to cut the razor wire on the fence. The big seventies-era building stood on the far side, ten feet away. The vines and brush growing up through the chain link helped silence the rattle as they went over. Then they stood together in the darkness under the weed trees grown up against the walls, back inside the perimeter.
June’s plan was to climb to the roof and get inside from there. She’d retrieved a static line and three harnesses from the back of the Subaru, gear left from their last trip to Grandad Bluff in La Crosse. She wore the coil of rope across her chest like a bandolier. She’d stripped off the pistol and armored vest and helmet and stowed them in the duffel. She’d never make it to the top wearing all that extra shit.
June tilted her head at the brick, her voice soft and steady. “The first floor is too smooth and tight.” The wild saplings were tall enough, but they were too thin and bendy to hold her weight. She pointed at the second floor’s corner detail, where decorative bricks projected out from the surface three-quarters of an inch or so. “Can you lift me? A decent fingerhold is all I need.”
Peter eyeballed the brick. He knew he and Lewis couldn’t do this without her. He took a knee. “Climb up to stand on my shoulders. Lewis will steady you. Then I’ll stand, and you can steady yourself against the building. When you step on my palms, I’ll press you up.”
She nodded and put her boot on his thigh. She was slim and light. Peter drank in the scent of her, the press of her body against his, the familiar feel of her strong, capable hands holding tight. He welcomed the focus required to stay steady beneath her. He was trying not to lose his shit. If there was one of those creatures standing sentry on the rooftop, June was almost certainly dead.
Then she stepped into his hands. He lifted her until his elbows locked. She reached for the first quoin. Then her weight was gone. Peter leaned back to watch as she pulled herself up, legs h
anging free until she was high enough to use her feet. She was nearly invisible in the failing light.
Peter was already saturated with adrenaline, but as he watched her spider up the wall without a backward glance, the static crackled in his head like he’d stuck his tongue into a light socket. He wasn’t worried about her free-climbing a two-story building. She’d done the north face of El Cap. She’d scrambled up giant redwoods. She said she could make it and he knew she was right.
No, it was what came after. What might be on the roof, and what they’d certainly find inside.
None of Peter’s fights that day, not with Edgar, not with Holloway’s metal monsters, had fired him up like this fear for June’s safety. She was risking her life and it scared the hell out of him. He didn’t want her to get hurt. He didn’t want to lose her.
He found himself falling hard into that old post-traumatic panic loop. But he was somehow able to see it and catch himself. He wouldn’t be any good to June or Lewis like this. He made himself take a slow, deep breath, held it through five heartbeats, then released it slowly, counting five more. The extra oxygen and long exhales would reverse the cycle and get him functional again. He closed his eyes and pulled in another slow, deep breath, feeling his heart beat. Then another breath, and another, and another. The static begin to ease.
He opened his eyes as June reached the small masonry cornice at the top. She slung a silent hand around the overhang, pulled her face up to peer across the parapet wall for an eternal moment, then hauled herself over and was gone.
Peter strained to hear over the sound of the breeze, but there was nothing.
“Atta girl,” Lewis said, his voice soft and deep as the falling dusk.
“Jesus.” Peter filled his lungs again, then let them empty.
Lewis turned and thumped him on the chest with a fist. “You know this how she feels every time you leave the damn house, right?”
“Maybe I didn’t before,” Peter said. “Not really. But I do now.”
Lewis looked at his phone. “It’s after seven,” he said. “If Spark doesn’t hit the dead man’s switch by eight, this all goes public, right?”
Peter nodded. “And the Russians and Chinese and Iranians are all building killer robots.”
Then the uncoiled rope dropped down the face of the brick and it was Peter’s turn to climb.
* * *
—
June met him at the top. “I’ll wait for Lewis and haul up my gear,” she said softly. “You go find our way in.”
The roof was broad and flat, like a small city block covered with black rubber. He was hoping for an access bulkhead with a door and stairs, though he’d be happy with a simple hinged service hatch. But there was nothing but a giant heating-cooling system the size of a shipping container.
When Peter returned, Lewis was helping June adjust her vest. She said, “Please tell me you found something. Don’t make me do a Tarzan swing through those fucking windows.”
Peter pointed at the big Carrier unit mounted on a steel frame. “That thing heats the building. There has to be some kind of ductwork to the interior. We just have to get to it.”
He used his multi-tool to remove the electrical cover and cut the power. Then he unscrewed the air handler access to expose a gigantic fan and the interior of the duct. After he and Lewis hauled the blower out of the way, they could see down the eight-by-eight steel box.
Now they could hear noise from below, the hammering racket of pneumatic tools and the high whine of electric motors. Lewis held the light while Peter unslung his weapon and crawled inside for a look, careful not to thump the sheet metal, which would reverberate like the world’s biggest drum. Some thoughtful previous technician had bolted angle brackets and cross-supports to the sidewalls to make the whole thing less dangerous.
The heating system wasn’t complicated. The steel duct went down eight feet. At the bottom was a giant finned diffuser grille to direct the air outward in all directions. That was it.
After bending down to peer between the fins, he climbed out as quietly as possible. “The good news is that it’s a straight shot to the main floor, with an open landing zone below.” He kept his voice low. “The bad news is this unit doesn’t feed the second floor, which must have its own internal system. We’re going to have to drop all the way to the bottom and work our way up.”
“What’d you see through that grille?” Lewis asked.
“It’s lit up bright as day. There’s some kind of automated assembly line, maybe the stuff that Marty Metzger designed for Holloway.”
“What about the second-floor office?”
“It takes up a chunk of the southeast corner. Two stairways up, one at each end of a wraparound balcony, with doors at the top and windows that overlook the assembly line. But it doesn’t look like an office. I saw a couple of bedrooms and maybe a home gym. I think someone lives there.”
“You spot any more of those four-legged fuckers?”
“No,” Peter said. “But I can’t see everything.”
“What about people?”
“I don’t have an angle. For all I know, he could have a platoon of private security, plus a hundred machines standing guard.” Peter shook his head. “This is a really bad idea.”
“Compared to the alternative?” Lewis’s face was grim. “There’s worse things to die for.” Peter knew he was thinking of his boys and the world they were going to inherit.
June took out Oliver’s black phone and checked the screen. “Seven-thirty. Nothing. I’m going to call him.”
She raised the phone to her ear and stepped away, but she was back too quickly. “No answer.”
Peter let out his breath. “Of course.”
“He did tell us we were on our own,” she said.
“I remember.” Peter put his hand on her arm. “Is there any way I can get you to stay on the roof?”
She gave him a look. “Would you?”
It was a fair question. “Okay.”
Lewis tied the center of the rope around the heating unit’s roof mount and lowered both ends gently to the inside of the grille. They’d all put on climbing harnesses for the drop. Peter clipped into his figure eight descender and climbed down into the duct. It was harder to be quiet with a rifle slung around his neck.
The diffuser grille had a hinge on one side and latches on the other three. He looked up. Lewis was just above him and hooked into the other line. June sat with her feet over the edge. Both gave him a thumbs-up.
Peter checked his line again, then leaned down and flipped the latches.
The grille hinged to the side and the rope fell cleanly to the cement floor thirty feet below.
Peter had a much better view now. He looked down through the open hole and saw none of the four-legged monsters. The automated assembly line was a long double row of identical large white cylindrical machines that sprouted larger, more complex versions of the hyenas’ arms. The tool sounds were much louder.
I am alive, he thought.
And jumped.
68
He spun slowly as he dropped.
The building interior was concrete block, painted clean bright white. The production floor was orderly and uncluttered, with plenty of room to expand. The air smelled faintly of ozone. Exits on all four sides. Other than the assembly line, there was no movement. He still saw no hyenas standing sentry.
The apartment hung like a pod from the corner. It was small compared to the entire building, but on a human scale, it was huge. He had a better view through the balcony windows now, the unmoving gym machines and two empty bedrooms and a dark-paneled room like a home office, but he couldn’t see any people. Two stairways rose up the south and east walls.
He hit the ground with his knees bent and his rifle swinging. The production line wrapped the walls in front and to his right. Long rows of big workbench
es and ranks of tall storage shelves stood behind him. The noise of the pneumatic tools and electric motors rose and fell, the assembly machines at work. Still no other movement. He waved the go-ahead to Lewis, then unhooked from the line and shucked the harness, careful not to let the metal parts chime against the hard floor.
Peter’s rifle was up and ready. The second rope twitched and he knew Lewis was coming fast. He glanced up and saw June inside the duct and clipped onto his old line. Lewis landed and June stepped off the edge.
She had more climbing experience than Peter and Lewis combined, and she dropped faster than either of them, but still it seemed to take forever. Peter swept his eyes across the room, looking for targets, heart banging against the walls of his chest like a wild animal caught in a too-small cage.
Then she was down and Lewis led them south along the back of the assembly line toward the closest stairway. June was next, then Peter. The tall storage racks were a few steps away on their left. June stared at them a moment, then ran softly forward to Lewis, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed. She looked back at Peter with wide eyes. Each shelf held a row of bulbous metal logs stored end-on to the aisle.
At first, Peter didn’t understand what he was looking at. Then he realized that each object was the back end of a clawed creature, its legs folded beneath as if at rest. He scanned behind him along the row of shelves. Hundreds of hyenas. Waiting.
Peter told himself that they still needed their circuit boards or batteries or something else essential, anything that might keep them from being fully functional. He didn’t find himself even remotely reassuring.
If Lewis was worried, he didn’t show it. He just nodded and picked up the pace, eyes scanning the apartment windows to their left. Still no sign of people. The stairs were forty feet ahead.
