Hard Drop

by Will van Der Vaart

  It was empty, Tyco could see that by the way his jaw clenched. Chip shook his head furiously, but said nothing. He tilted back his head and let the loose tobacco drop into his mouth, chewing the loose leaves with a ready ease, and sighed. From the look of satisfaction on his face, it clearly wasn’t the first time.

  Flip looked away in disgust. She followed Tyco’s eyes down the road and across forty long yards of open space to the idling vehicle, sensing the calm calculations in his head.

  “This better be worth it.” He muttered, without looking at her.

  But it was Chip who rose to his feet. “We doing this or what?” He called out. “Let’s go!” He leapt across the barrier and took off down the hill. Tyco barely hesitated, following Chip in an all-out sprint, looking neither right nor left as he ran. Flip and MAP-11 followed close behind, seizing the advantage before the surprised rebels could react.

  The soldiers peered out from their covers, staring at troopers streaking across the open road. One by one, they stood and fired openly, realizing the troopers’ defenseless state. They focused their fire on Chip, at the head of the group, emptying their magazines as he sprinted for the truck. Soon they were all on their feet, and the trickle of gunshots became a roaring flood. Chip took bullet after bullet off his body armor as he barreled down the slope, skidding and slipping on the loose gravel but staying on his feet. The distance to the vehicle closed rapidly as he bore down with long, thundering strides, seemingly oblivious to the gunfire all around him.

  But the calm on his face was betrayed by a patch of blood spreading quickly down his leg, and a limp that threatened to buckle under him with every step. He soldiered on unwaveringly, gritting his teeth against the jarring pain.

  A grenade exploded in front of Flip, throwing up a cloud of dust and shrapnel. She stumbled, head spinning as she went deaf, and put a hand down to the ground to steady herself.

  A soldier stepped into the open in front of her, gun leveled and taking aim. Tyco turned as the grenade went off, stopping in his tracks as Flip went to the ground. He saw the soldier and fired instinctively from the hip. The shots were wild and inaccurate, leaping in a wide arc as the rifle bucked in his hands, but he was close enough, and the rebel went down in a bloody heap. Flip looked up at Tyco and saw him standing still, gun still smoking in his hands, and nodded gratefully, forcing herself to move again.

  Tyco turned back down the hill, summoning every last bit of strength from his heavy legs, trying to get back up to speed and close the widening gap to Chip. A bullet zinged past, then another – and then a third slammed into his helmet, cracking the protective casing and forcing him sideways, down on one knee. He knelt, dazed, his hands going instinctively to his head, trying to regain his bearings.

  He felt himself lifted from behind, dragged forwards and forced onto his feet. He heard the pings as the bullets slammed off of MAP-11’s armor, saw the creature above him, felt himself thrust down the hill and towards the truck. And then he was off and running, as if on command, crossing the last few yards to the vehicle and safety.

  Chip reached the truck and stumbled towards it, putting out a hand against the metal frame to steady himself as his wounded leg finally gave way beneath him. He turned back to the team, letting his body rest against the frame, the blood trailing down his uniform now undeniable but nowhere near as bright as the gleam of victory in his eyes.

  “Alright, Cap, we’re here - !” He shouted, a pained smile creasing his dirt-caked, stubbled face. He put his hand to the door behind him and gripped the handle, ripping it open and turning towards the front seat.

  An explosion roared from inside the vehicle, echoing deafeningly through the small cab and across the tarmac. Chip slumped against the vehicle and slid, trailing blood all the way down the door, one hand to his side and gasping for breath.

  The vehicle’s driver door swung open behind him. A soldier emerged from inside, reloading the shotgun in his hands as he stepped out onto the highway and aimed for Tyco with a cruel smile.

  He fired again, the weapon recoiling in his hands as he stepped forwards, throwing up dust against the spattered blood on his uniform. And Tyco stared, unmoving, resigned to his fate as the shrapnel flew towards him –

  He felt himself falling, flung headlong and diagonally across the concrete and thudding roughly against the truck.

  He looked up to see MAP-11 standing in his place, hunched slightly as he regained his balance, countering the momentum he had built in reaching Tyco. The pellets smashed into his chest instantly, knocking him backwards and carving the armor into razor-sharp shrapnel shavings. From the ground, Tyco stared as the giant tottered unsteadily, his feet searching for grip against the rubble, boot scraping loudly over the tarmac –

  And then he caught himself, his treads connecting with the surface at last. The giant head snapped to attention, eyes boring into the bewildered, frightened expression of the soldier before him. The man panicked, fumbling with his gun, desperate to reload. He slammed the clips home even as MAP-11 rose to full height before him, and pointed the gun again –

  MAP-11 tensed and leapt forwards, tearing the shotgun roughly from the soldier’s grasp. He flipped it to himself, end over end, caught it, and fired.

  Without armor, the soldier didn’t stand a chance. His chest exploded in a bloody mess, and he flew backwards into the middle of the road, shredded.

  Tyco stood slowly. Despite MAP-11’s intervention, the shotgun pellets had found him, cutting deep into his arm and side. He would survive, but the pain was serious, and he moved towards the open door with effort. The ground beneath him shifted unsteadily, and he slipped, lurching to catch himself and almost blacked out from the pain.

  He blinked and stared down at Chip, lying motionless on the ground with his eyes wide open. He reached out towards him, his fingers fumbling for his tags with weary, unhappy resignation. “I’m sorry.” He started, just as his fingers connected with the tags, but then he was lifted to his feet, and thrust bodily through the open vehicle door.

  “Hey - !” He stared, but the slam of the door silenced him. Bullets were racing towards them again, thudding off the reinforced metal. For a long, disoriented second, Tyco sat, regaining his bearings, slowly making sense of his surroundings. And then he felt the leather seat under his legs, felt the engine still rumbling beneath him, and he gripped the steering wheel firmly and turned back to look for the others.

  He found Flip right away; standing an arms’ length behind him, she was crouched over the bodies inside the vehicle, firing into each one with efficient purpose, making sure there would be no surprises. MAP-11 was still firing outside the vehicle, the bullets roaring until the clip went dry. And then the door opened, and the giant swung himself inside, kicking the corpses scattered over the seats out of the way and neatly depositing Chip’s unmoving body in their place. And then, with a nod to Tyco, he hoisted himself up into the turret, throwing the dead gunner aside and slamming his hand against the truck’s roof twice, signaling for Tyco to go.

  Tyco plunged his foot down on the accelerator as MAP-11 opened fire with the minigun, and the vehicle jolted into action. The rebels responded in kind, their shots echoing endlessly off the jeep’s frame, throwing up welts in the armor. Tyco gunned the engine, feeling the wheels catch on the highway beneath him, and then they were under way, rolling over the debris-strewn concrete with ever-increasing speed. He checked his rifle display quickly, almost unwillingly; the ticking few seconds remaining on his countdown did nothing to calm his nerves, and he pushed the vehicle for what it was worth, begging for every last scrap of speed.

  The city behind them – what remained of it – was a sight to behold. Surface-to-orbit countermeasures streaked across the sky, flashing like lightning against the pitch-black debris clouds that blackened the afternoon sky. Giant batteries sent round after round skyward, desperate in their attempts to ward off the next, inevitable strike.

  It came swiftly, screaming down from the sky, exploding bl
indingly in the bright daylight before thundering to earth, hiding the batteries in a cloud of smoke. The impact was much closer, this time, and the shockwave was tangible as it rolled its way up through the hillside. It buckled the asphalt beneath their wheels and set the truck careening sideways, fishtailing across the road. Tyco smashed through a makeshift sandbag barricade and kept going, roaring down the wide highway and following it straight back into the mountain.

  Chip’s body jostled on the seat, and Tyco glanced back, grimly unhappy, certain the sniper was near gone but unable to slow down.

  MAP-11 fell silent with the minigun; they had outrun their pursuit, and there was not much ahead that posed a significant threat.

  “Bearing 8-4-point-5,” Flip said. “It looked like a small service road. You’ll find it – gun it!’

  “What -?” Tyco shouted, then looked ahead and saw the road rippling violently in front of him, tearing a wide gap in the highway and exposing the dull grey rock below. He mashed the throttle, coaxing every last ounce of speed out of the engine as the road ahead was ripped to shreds. Their wheels left the concrete and roared across the gap, spinning wildly through the air.

  They landed hard, smashing heavily to the ground just on the other side of the divide even as another shuddering impact shook the rock below. Tyco kept his foot planted, cutting around piles of debris as the car rocketed down the highway into the mountain. The tunneled underpass shook, rippled, and crumbled all around them, showering rock down onto the road, threatening to collapse at any second. The road was a dense obstacle course of concrete barriers, stalled cars, and security checkpoints, and Tyco was in no position to slow down. He was a man possessed, keeping his eyes low, cutting around piles of rock and smashing through barricades, accelerating every inch of the way.

  They swerved around an abandoned guardhouse, and Chip cried out in pain. Tyco turned back quickly, hopeful but fearing the worst. What he saw on the seat behind him was gruesome and alien: MAP-11 had propped Chip up against the seat, cradling his neck roughly with one giant hand. His other hand was cocked back, wrist pointed directly at Chip’s throat. And from it, protruding like a slender dagger, was a thin shard, razor-sharp and threatening.

  “What the fuck is he doing?!” Tyco shouted, unnerved and incredulous. Flip’s head whipped back around just in time to see MAP-11 plunge the tip of his blade into Chip’s skin.

  “Jesus - !” She said, open-mouthed and horrified. She stared as Chip’s veins throbbed beneath his skin. His eyes opened dully as he gave a long, painful gasp, and she realized, stunned, what MAP-11 was doing: through the thinnest and sharpest of needles, he was giving Chip a life-saving transfusion.

  “Uh…Cap -?” She started, but Tyco had seen it too.

  “What the fuck is he - ?” Tyco shouted, relief flooding through him as he pounded the steering wheel with both hands.

  They roared past rebels fleeing from the underpass. Some waved their hands to stop them, shouting out unheeded warnings. Others glared incredulously as they flew past, thundering straight into the jaws of the collapsing mountain, but not one of them opened fire. Something cracked overhead, falling precipitously and smashing off of the vehicle’s roof. The ceiling was coming down. Tyco stood on the pedal, but there was no more power in the engine, and the vehicle growled along up the road.

  Flip looked up towards the far end of the highway, where bright yellow sunlight flooded in through the open mouth. It was caving in, the ancient steel-and-concrete framework that held up the entrance groaning as the rock shifted overhead. From here, it looked like the only thing holding up the mountain, and it was fading quickly.

  “Faster, Cap, FASTER!” She shouted frantically.

  “You think I don’t know that?!” Tyco roared back, his bloodshot eyes wide and furious.

  He turned hard, tires squealing, narrowly avoiding the loose, swinging gate of a security checkpoint, and made for the last, uphill stretch into the open. It was going to be close. The trickle of rocks and gravel from above had turned into a downpour.

  The steel framework overhead snapped loudly as the truck’s wheels crunched on the ramp. A jagged crack appeared, running down the middle of the beam.

  “Cap - !” Flip shouted again, but Tyco just nodded, waving her off, cutting across the road and away from the cave-in at the center of the ramp. He was closing fast, desperately close now, the jeep’s engine working overtime as it clawed up the incline. The daylight ahead was almost blinding now, the wide open, blue desert sky beyond so near it seemed like an ocean. Tyco leaned forwards, urging the truck on, feeling it jolt beneath him as it raced up the last few feet.

  The metal frame broke apart with a scream, its jagged edges flying earthward as the mountain piled in over them, pouring down across the entrance in a flood of rock and earth. Something heavy glanced off the truck’s side, crumpling the metal and smashing the windows. Gravel pounded the windshield, cracking it in a half-dozen places. Flip ducked low as if it would help her avoid the cave-in, willing the truck to go just a mile, even a half-mile faster, anything to get them clear. MAP-11 huddled low, shielding Chip’s body with is own.

  Tyco shielded his eyes as the windshield shattered in front of them, showering the truck’s interior with glass fragments. The vehicle lurched as he sank low in his seat, keeping his foot pressed unrelentingly on the pedal, willing the truck through the crumbling hillside. Their tires hit a ledge ahead of them, sending them airborne and sideways. Rock smashed into the frame from all sides, buffeting the vehicle and blinding the passengers in a cloud of dust. For one long, horrifying instant, the vehicle seemed to be motionless, caught in place as the rockslide buried them.

  And then the wheels crashed down onto solid pavement, tires screaming against the wheel wells as the suspension gave way, and they were through, out of the tunnel and into the bright, sunlit desert. Flip let out a whoop, turning to look back at the scene of their narrow escape.

  The sight that greeted her was impressive and horrifying: the mountain had crumbled, collapsing in on the tunneled highway and sending up a massive dust cloud. The sky behind it was a towering mass of dark, black smoke, rising from the city like a funeral pyre. Even as she watched, the ground shook, as another missile exploded behind the hillside. An enormous cloud of smoke rose into the sky, followed closely by a rippling shockwave that rolled over the hillside, flattening everything in its path. It billowed out towards them, moving quickly, its front a whirling mass of dust.

  Tyco saw the cloud rise in the mirror above him, and tightened his grip on the wheel. They had made it out this far, but there was no telling where the next one might fall. He glanced nervously ahead into the desert.

  “Hey, uh – Flip.” He asked, his voice ashen.

  “Yeah?”

  “They going to be lift-off ready when we get there?”

  “With any luck.” She said grimly, glancing down at the expired countdown on her rifle. Tyco gritted his teeth and leaned low over the wheel, gunning the vehicle down the empty highway and directly through the field of collapsed test craters Flip had seen from above. If he could stay ahead of that shockwave, they had a chance.

  Two miles away, in the middle of the quiet desert, the base waited silently. There were no signs of life on its sunbaked concrete. The gates were locked, shut tight and abandoned, and small dunes of sand snaked their way across its endless runway.

  Otherwise, it was barren. The runway Flip had seen from the frozen mountain was deserted, the hangars shut tight.

  It had not, however, been left unguarded. The high barbed-wire fence was ringed by sheet metal guard towers, each manned with an automatic turret. They were silent now, bent double against their supports in watchful sleep. No one had disturbed them for weeks.

  In the distance, the bombardment continued. Jagged shadows rose over the desert floor as smoke rose from the city and the blast cloud tore outwards. The mountains in the distance had disappeared almost completely. And still, the turrets remained asleep, their sensor
s untroubled by the darkening sky above.

  A tiny, gleaming speck appeared at the bottom of the cloud. Racing across the desert, its wheels glinting as it tore along the winding road, the object came into range quickly, making directly for the abandoned gates below.

  A lone sensor whirred in the guard tower nearest the road. A klaxon came to life soundlessly, its red light flashing high over the deserted base. And then the restful

  machine turrets came to life, their angular necks extending outwards gracefully until their barrels faced directly out over the desert.

  Infrared beams flashed unseen across the sand, finding and locking on to the speeding metal blip in the distance. And then, one by one, the turrets opened fire.

  Tyco jumped as the first bullet struck the metal frame. “What the -?” He said and then stopped himself, face falling, as the reality of their predicament sunk in. “Get down.” He growled, motioning for MAP-11 and Flip to follow as he huddled low over the steering wheel. MAP-11 obligingly retracted his shard and slumped, covering Chip.

  More bullets followed, raking across the front of the vehicle and chewing up the asphalt in front of it.

  “Why are they shooting us?!” Flip shouted, crouched low in her seat, not understanding the unexpected opposition.

  “I’ll ask them when we get there.” Tyco answered grimly, setting his jaw as the bullets zipped past.

  The guns had found the range now, focusing their fire unrelentingly across the jeep’s side and front. Their bullets found their mark, smashing through the tires and dropping the truck onto its solid metal rims. It veered hard, cutting across the two-lane highway and nearly running off of it. Tyco’s knuckles went white as he fought the understeer and brought the truck around, intent on keeping it on course, on the road. The roiling black cloud behind them was gaining rapidly, threatening to swallow them whole and throw them off the road. They were barely half a mile ahead of it and losing quickly, and there was nothing for Tyco do but stay on the road, accelerating into the hail of bullets – and pray.