Dirk grinned. “Here we go.” He slunk over to a pile of debris, then when the troopers weren’t watching, vaulted over it and rounded the building on the far side of them.
“Goddamn it,” Astoria cursed, taking off after her brother.
Byron and H124 headed west, hunkering low. A patrolling trooper came into view, checking a neighboring street. They approached him quietly from his rear. Byron picked up a piece of rebar, and got closer. As the trooper rounded the next corner, Byron ran up behind him, slamming the rebar down hard on his shoulders. The trooper stumbled, Byron took the opportunity to rip off the man’s helmet, knocking him on the head. The trooper slumped to the ground, unconscious.
They peered around the corner to the transport. There the five troopers had taken no notice.
Byron rummaged around in his pack. He pulled out a rectangular block, pliable and black. “Take this,” he said, handing it to H124.
“What is it?”
“An explosive.” Then he handed her a sleek cube, which had a red light on it. “Just stick this little box into it and press the button. Then get clear. When Dirk distracts them, let ’er blow. That should draw the troopers in opposite directions. Once they split up I’ll steal the transport.”
He took off, approaching the vehicle.
H124 gripped the explosive, slinking low to keep out of sight, moving quietly along a parallel street. When she was two blocks west of the troopers, she took shelter behind a fallen slab of concrete.
At the far end of the street she could see Dirk and Astoria creeping along behind the other trooper. Astoria grabbed his shoulder, wheeling him around. She thrust a powerful blow to the man’s throat, and he stumbled back. Then Dirk appeared, giving H124 the thumbs up. He shouted, “Some citizens are escaping! Over here! We need assistance!”
Two troopers jerked their heads in their direction, then wielded their flash bursters and took off toward them. But three remained behind, loading the last citizen inside. They started to close the door.
Finding a good spot in the center of the street, amid a mess of crumbling bricks, H124 set down the explosive. Following Byron’s instructions, she stuck the small black cube into the putty, and pressed the tiny red button. Then she bolted, taking shelter behind a building.
The explosion shattered the silence, and the brickwork became a barrage of projectiles. The three troopers ran toward her.
A block to the north, Byron closed the distance to the abandoned transport. H124 continued west, racing between buildings to keep out of sight. She could hear the troopers’ boots slamming on the pavement, drawn to the explosion.
She ran around a corner just as Byron slid into the driver’s seat and started up the transport. It lifted above the ground, and he wheeled it around, picking up Dirk and Astoria at the end of the block. She waved them down, and climbed into the passenger seat. Byron raced toward the rendezvous point. Up ahead, she could see the hole in the atmospheric shield now wide enough to accommodate the transport.
Checking over her shoulder, she saw Dirk and Astoria sitting with the citizens, the latter bunch completely oblivious to the fact that the transport had just been hijacked. They all watched different media streams on their floating displays, checked out as usual. Dirk studied them in fascination, while Astoria sat with her arms crossed, looking straight ahead. “We better not get killed,” she growled.
Once they reached the debris ramp, they saw Raven standing on top of the retaining wall, the maglev hovering beside him. He waved them on with a grin. Then he stepped through the hole, standing next to the craft on the maglev to lower himself.
They were almost free.
Suddenly all of the citizens’ floating displays shut off.
The light in the transport dimmed. H124 turned as the passengers lifted their heads all at once, eyes narrowing on the Badlanders. They stood up, shambling toward them. She put a hand on Byron’s shoulder. “Something’s wrong.”
The citizens shuffled toward Astoria and Dirk in a daze, then lunged forward, pinning them down. Astoria unholstered her revolver and fired it in the narrow confines of the transport, the ear-splitting series of blasts deafening H124. Citizens fell back, splattered with red, seeping holes in their foreheads and necks. After six shots, the gun clicked on an empty chamber.
“Reload me!” she called to Dirk, but he was too pinned down to take her gun, and he couldn’t even free his arms to get to his own. H124 watched as crimson arcs sprayed above the tangled mass as Astoria’s knife flashed. “Get them off us!” she cried out.
H124 unslung her energy rifle. She couldn’t hit any of the citizens without the electric charge carrying through their bodies and into Dirk and Astoria. Instead she brought the butt of the rifle down onto the thronging mass’s heads. But already half the citizens had crept forward, moving between her and Byron. He floored it, speeding toward the debris ramp and the hole in the shield. He pulled out his 9mm from a hip holster and handed it to her. But before she could fire, hands grabbed her, dragging her down, bony bodies swarming over her. She shoved them away, struggling to see out the front window. They were a hundred yards from the hole. “Damn it!” he cursed. The bodies kept coming, grabbing Byron now and dragging him from the pilot’s chair. They were thin and feeble, but there were too many of them.
The transport crashed to the ground. Through a mass of squirming elbows and legs, H124 saw troopers running toward the transport, flash bursters aimed at them. The atmospheric shield above flickered and glowed, the hole now gone. Then the transport door slid open, and a blinding flash filled her world. An electrical surge snaked through her body, every muscle jittering in agony. Her teeth clamped shut, and darkness swallowed her.
Chapter 13
H124 stirred, waking slowly and groggily. For the briefest of moments she didn’t know where she was, and then, alarmingly, who she was. Then it came back to her—the transport, the swarm of citizens, the blast from the troopers’ flash bursters. She lifted her head, finding that she had been sleeping on Byron’s shoulder, his arm around her.
She awakened more fully, pulling away. His eyes were closed, and he mumbled something as she stirred, taking in their surroundings. They lay on the cold cement floor of a cell, rusted metal bars caging them in. There was no bunk or food or water.
She and Byron were alone. Astoria and Dirk were nowhere in sight. She sat up straighter, and at last Byron woke. “H,” he breathed, disoriented. “You woke up. I was getting worried.”
“Where are we?”
He scanned the area with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone. I woke up about an hour ago to find us sprawled on the floor. You were shivering.”
“Where are Dirk and Astoria?”
“I haven’t seen them.” The place smelled old and dank, and she could hear water dripping somewhere. Rising on wobbly legs, she moved to the bars and peered out. Other cells stood along a narrow corridor, all empty. The place sounded vacant.
Tall, narrow windows stood high along the far wall, but decades of grime and mold coated them, letting in only the most feeble light.
She tested the bars and rattled the door.
“Tried that,” he told her.
She bent down by the lock. “Can we pick this?”
“If we had something slender.”
She realized then that all of her pockets had been emptied, her PRD and multitool removed. She moved to the old hinges and gripped one of the pins, trying to jimmy it upward. It was stuck fast.
Kneeling, she examined where the bars had been sunk into the cement. Some of the floor had decayed a bit here, so she gripped one of the bars and shook it fiercely. It barely moved. She tried to chip away at the cement with her fingernails, but just ended up scraping her fingertips.
“Do you think we’re in that food processing facility?” he asked.
She thought of the sprawling, ster
ile buildings where they made food cubes in New Atlantic. There, the food was made from soy that was harvested from gardens on rooftops. Here in Murder City, all bets were off. “If so, it looks nothing like the ones in New Atlantic.”
“Unless they’re holding us till they process the citizens, then plan on hauling us over there.”
Just in case an unseen TWR was in the door, she closed her eyes and concentrated, reaching out to connect with it. But she sensed no receiver. It was an analog lock, old and simple.
A few cells down, on the same side as hers, she heard someone stir, then gasp in panic. “Astoria?” cried Dirk’s familiar voice. “Astoria!”
“Dirk?” H124 said in a soft voice.
“Are you and Byron over there?” Dirk asked.
“Yes.”
“Astoria’s here on the floor, but I can’t wake her up. Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” she answered.
Byron joined her at the cell door. “Don’t panic,” he told Dirk. “H didn’t wake up right away either.”
“Astoria?” he said again, and H124 could hear her shifting on the floor.
“What the hell?” came her gruff voice. H124 couldn’t see them at all, but thought they were probably three or four cells down, with the way their voices echoed off the cold stone.
She heard Astoria stand up, rattle the cell bars. “What the hell is this?” The noise reverberated in the empty space. Then it grew quiet. “Where are Byron and that soft-hearted PPC-attractor?”
“Here,” Byron called down to her.
“Damn it! This is why we don’t help worthless zombie motherfuckers! Their minds aren’t their own. Those jacked-in assholes couldn’t have a single original thought if they wanted.”
H124 turned to Byron. “Is she saying that the citizens were controlled? Made to do that?”
His eyes looked hesitant. “We’ve never really understood the depth of influence the PPC has on people who are jacked-in.”
H124 thought of the eerie way they’d all moved in unison, the way all their screens turned off at once. The citizens hadn’t done that themselves. She hadn’t seen any of them reach under their ears to switch their displays to sleep mode.
“See what your bleeding heart has gotten us into this time? We’re fucking rats in a cage here.”
She heard Astoria punch one of the bars, then Dirk adding in a calm voice, “Let’s just figure a way out of here.”
A door on the far side of the room clanged open. It was around the corner at the end of the cell row, so H124 had to crane her head against the bars to see.
Her blood turned cold when she saw four Repurposers round the corner. The familiar black uniforms, long sweeping coats, and red and black lightning bolt insignias on their upper sleeves made her mouth go dry. A worker had once told her that she shouldn’t fear the Repurposers if they came for a visit, that they were good and the lightning symbolized a bolt of inspiration. Repurposers offered the gift of innovation to a person’s mind, he’d said. But now she truly understood the dark truth about them. They devastated your brain, scrambling and destroying it in an effort to make you compliant.
They stopped in front of Astoria’s cell, their pale, cruel faces smirking beneath the brims of their black hats. The lead one pulled out a flash burster and fired it into the cell. She heard Astoria cry out, then fall silent. The blast hadn’t been very bright, probably not enough to knock her out, but enough immobilize her.
“Leave my sister alone!” Dirk cursed. One fished out a key, and they let themselves into his cell. As the last Repurposer stepped inside, he turned, black eyes locking on H124. She backed away from the bars, bumping into Byron.
“Repurposers,” she breathed. She heard the other cell door slam shut.
“Don’t you dare touch my brother,” they heard Astoria say, feebly.
And then Dirk started to scream, a primal, keening wail. H124 backed away in horror, slamming against the wall, the panic welling within her.
“H,” Byron said, grabbing her by the shoulders. She blinked, tearing.
“I’ll kill you bastards!” Astoria shouted, and another bright flash lit up the space. H124 heard her fall, still cursing them. “You’re dead!”
“Tell us what we need to know, and we’ll stop this,” she heard a Repurposer say, only he hadn’t asked them any questions.
Dirk screamed again, and H124 heard the terrible sound of the repurposing tool whirring to life, its bone saw spinning.
“Don’t you dare touch him!” Astoria bellowed, and another flash illuminated the gloomy space. Astoria cried out in pain.
“We have to do something!” H124 shouted. She ran to the bars again, shaking them, checking the wall for any loose cinder blocks. There was nothing. She pounded a fist against the wall.
Everything went quiet in the neighboring cell. She heard that door creak open. Pressing her forehead against the cold bars, she watched as two of the Repurposers dragged Dirk away. Moments later, the other two emerged with Astoria, who hung limp between them, feet dragging behind.
They disappeared round the corner, where the heavy door there slammed shut. She spun to face Byron. “They’ll wipe them! Or kill them!” She thought of the Menials—silent, almost robotic people who had been wiped and told to perform a simple, repetitive task. “This can’t be happening!” She gripped the bars again, rattling them, crying out in frustration. “Damn it! I shouldn’t have tried to save those people! Why did I do that?”
Byron placed a hand on her back. “This isn’t your fault.”
“It damn well is! She told me no good would come out of it. I should have listened to her!”
“Astoria never thinks anything good comes out of anything.” He took her by her shoulders, and gently turned her around. “Don’t do this to yourself. We have to find a way out.”
The door opened, and the Repurposers entered again, this time marching toward her cell.
A white-hot rage welled up inside her. She reached out with her mind, trying to find any TWR out there, something she could connect with, unlock. Some machinery she could start up to create a diversion. Anything to distract them and make their escape.
She squeezed her eyes shut, backing away from the bars, mind searching. Then she connected with something, a receiver of some kind, but different from any controls she’d operated for incinerators or door locks. She felt around for its status, feeling that the device was on. She sensed its proximity. If she could make whatever it was malfunction, distract the Repurposers, maybe Dirk and Astoria could make their escape.
She reached out, giving the device two simultaneous signals that it would be unable to process. She told it to turn on and off at the same time, putting every ounce of mental energy behind the command.
One of the Repurposers cried out in pain. She opened her eyes to see his eyes go wide. He grabbed his head, screaming, and collapsed. The other three turned, bending over him. “He’s dead,” one of them whispered.
The lead Repurposer slowly pivoted his head, locking eyes with her in the cell. Then he turned toward his fallen colleague. “Remove him,” he commanded the others.
All three filed out, dragging their dead comrade.
Byron squeezed her arm. “What just happened?”
She blinked, relaxing her neck muscles, feeling her mind detach from the receiver. “I don’t know . . . I think I might have killed him. He had something in his head, some kind of receiver.”
“Holy hell!” Byron said, clapping her on the shoulder. He grinned, the hope flickering in his eyes. “Can you do that again?”
A wicked smile came to her face. “I sure as hell hope so!”
With the Repurposers gone, they went over every piece of the cell, again unsuccessfully. The outer door clanged open again. Already H124 reached out with her mind, feeling for another receiver like the one she had disco
vered inside the Repurposer. But she didn’t sense anything. Five soldiers marched around the corner, all wearing the anonymous black fatigues and helmets with opaque face shields. They drew their flash bursters, and aimed for the cell. She drew back as they unlocked the heavy door and swung it wide. The soldiers filed in, grabbing H124 by the arms and dragging her out.
Byron rushed forward. “Leave her alone!”
A soldier in front knocked him aside, sending him sprawling against the wall. Byron got up, wiping blood from his lip. H124 kicked and struggled as they lifted her off the floor and out of the cell.
“Let go of her!” Byron shouted, rushing one of them before he had the chance to relock the cell door.
He grabbed the soldier, yanking the keys out of his hand. Byron brought up his palm, dealing a savage blow to the soldier’s chin. The man crumpled, neck snapping back.
One of the soldiers turned to Byron, reaching for his flash burster. Byron made for him, kicking the man’s hand. The gun went skittering across the floor. “You’re not taking her!” He dove for the gun, getting off a shot on another one of the troopers. H124 bucked, throwing off one of the men, then spun and punched another in the throat. He gagged and choked, grabbing his neck as he staggered backward.
The last solider gripped H124’s arm, but she shoved him away, delivering a swift kick to the man’s knees. She heard the sickening snap of bone as he cried out and crumpled to the ground. Byron hit all of them with blasts from the gun. Gripping the keys, Byron rushed out of the cell, and together they bolted down the corridor.
When they passed Dirk and Astoria’s empty cell, she saw blood all over the floor.
“What did they do to them?” Byron breathed.
“We have to find them.”
They rounded the corner to a solid steel door.
She tested it, finding it locked. Byron rummaged through the keys, finding a likely candidate and sliding it home. He yanked the door open, and they froze.
Beyond stood more than a dozen soldiers. Byron fired the flash burster, bringing down two of them.
Shattered Lands Page 13
