by John Conroe
“Ajaya Gurung, you better be alright!”
“As you command, Princess Astrid.”
“I love you!” she blurted.
“I love you too. Always have. Always will. Now gear up and get out. Pack your best guns and shoot straight.”
“I’d tell you to do the same, but you always shoot straight.”
“Hah! That’s an admission that I’m a better shot!”
“I didn’t say that. But… maybe.”
Someone, maybe her father, Brad, spoke to her from offscreen. She nodded to him and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind one ear. If I died the next moment, that’s the image I’d take with me. One perfect finger, one perfect ear, and a strand of glorious blonde hair.
“I have to go. We’re leaving.”
“Yes, you do. Do what Brad says. He’s smart and he’s a survivor.”
“That sounded almost like respect?”
“Maybe. Definitely respect JJ. Martin’s still a douche though.”
She laughed, but her eyes glimmered with tears. “Love you, Gurkha boy.”
“Love you, War Princess.”
The call ended, leaving me to sit back. Oddly, I had a smile on my face. She was leaving me—everyone was leaving me—but she loved me. And she would live. Brad was a bastard but he was a scary smart bastard who loved his daughter. They had weapons, training, and a freaking armored vehicle. I’m sure he had a place to go, a backup plan. He always did. When the apocalypse came, and it sure looked like it might be soon, the Johnsons would survive. Me, I might survive too. Well, except for this damned bomb in my neck.
But it sucked being alone. Not going to lie about that.
Then I heard a tap. Just a little sound. Metal on glass. It came again and I got up. My pistol was in my room, left behind, unneeded for the last mission, and the tap had come from back that way.
I only had one light on, plus the vid screen. I shut the light off and moved quietly through the darkened apartment. The tap sounded again, freezing me in place. Definitely the bedrooms. I moved, ducking low and crawling around the doorway into my room. My 9x23mm was in my bedside table. I reached up and quietly opened the drawer. Gun comfortably in my hand, I immediately felt better. Then another tap—close—like my window close. Crawling to the foot of my bed, I leaned out, pistol leading the way, till I could see the very base of my window.
A big dark shape blocked the window, unmoving. It took me a second to realize it was hovering there. A drone. No, a really big drone. In fact, I had only seen one drone that size and shape. I stood up and activated the weapon light on my pistol. Unit 19 was hovering outside my frigging bedroom window, just sitting there, waiting.
My mind ran through a dozen possibilities, but basically none of them made sense. So I nutted up and stepped over, unlocked the window, and raised it up. Unit 19 gently bumped the screen. I took the hint and raised it, stepping aside to let the big Decimator silently glide into my room.
“Unit 19? Status?”
“Identification incorrect.”
“What do you mean? You are Decimator Unit 19.”
“Negative.” Then it ticked—four times, fast. Not possible. It couldn’t be.
“Rikki Tikki?”
“Hello Ajaya.”
Then it hit me. Harper. While I slept in the government building. The third data chip from Rikki’s shell.
“How long?”
“Full assimilation of Decimator systems completed seventeen hours and fourteen minutes ago.”
“And you just what? Escaped the base?”
“Rikki unit subjugated base security. Previously planted scout viruses.”
“But why? Why did you come here?”
“Primary mission: Protect Ajaya Gurung. Secondary mission: Protect Gurung family and Astrid Johnson is not currently attainable.”
“What are you protecting me from?”
A laser lit up on the Decimator’s front, the red dot moving across the floor, up my leg, and stopping somewhere below my chin. I glanced at my mirror over my dresser. The dot was on my neck… right on the spot where they had injected me.
“Subcutaneous tracking and termination device. Possibility of accidental detonation unacceptably high. Rikki unit hacking deadman frequency.”
Mom was right. Something would happen—something had happened. My drone was back from the dead. I looked over the gleaming carbon fiber shell of the Decimator.
“System status?”
“All systems optimal. All capabilities optimal.”
Rikki was back and he was sporting a whole new ass-kicking airframe and he could keep my neck from exploding—maybe. Things were looking up. Way up. I closed the window and sat on the bed. Rikki hovered over and floated down onto the covers next to me. Then he ticked softly, four times—fast.
Hear that, Plum Blossom? That soft ticking is the sound of your upcoming demise.
The End
Author’s Note
Ajaya, Rikki and company will return in Web of Extinction, the third and final book of the Zone War trilogy. I expect to have it done and out by the fall of 2019. As usual I need to thank Gareth Otton for his awesome artwork and Susan Helene Gottfried for her editing skills.
Borough of Bones is my first book of my new life as a full time author. A huge thank you to my wife of 29 years for taking the leap into the unknown with me. The best is yet to come.
Dear fans, I hope you enjoyed book 2 and I can’t wait to get writing Web. Thank you for riding along with me.
