by S. Harrison
“It’s pretty hard to forget,” Brent mutters shakily.
“But that was a hill,” Margaux points out, staring at the diagram. “The ground on the way to the other hatch looks flat to me.”
The second circle dims, and less than ten seconds later, the third lights up.
“Major Brogan said that the R.A.M.s can self-propel in rolling mode,” says Bit. “But we took their top speed into consideration when we were planning this. Whatever is setting off the sensors is hitting the ground just hard enough to register but moving way too fast to be a mechanoid.”
The third light goes out; there’s a moderate delay, and then the fourth in line flickers on.
“What could it be?” Margaux says as the light blinks off.
I pull my walkie-talkie from my satchel and thumb the “Talk” button. “Jennifer? Are you there?”
There’s a short hiss of static, and Jennifer responds. “Yes, I’m here.”
The fifth orange circle illuminates.
“The seismic beacons are being tripped. Something is heading toward you, and it’s moving fast. Can you see anything?”
Jennifer must be squeezing her radio tightly, because the sound doesn’t cut off as she shuffles to her feet. “The whole place is lit up now, even Sector C,” she says quietly. “I have a clear line of sight for quite a distance into Sector B, but I don’t see or hear the R.A.M.s at all.”
Light number five goes out.
“I don’t think it’s a mechanoid,” I say into my radio. “I think it’s something else . . . someone else.”
“What do you mean?” Jennifer asks nervously as light number six starts glowing.
“I think it might be Gazelle.”
“One of the Saviors?” asks Jennifer.
“I think so,” I reply. “Her legs are cybernetic prosthetics. And she’s the only one I can think of who can move that fast.”
“Gazelle is alive?” Jonah’s voice pipes in as orange circle number six cuts off.
“You really think it might be her?” asks Bit.
“I do,” I reply with a nod. “Who else could it be?”
“OK,” Bit says with a puzzled look on her face. “But if it is Gazelle, how did she know to head toward Jennifer? There’s no way she could’ve seen her from that distance.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I reply as orange light number seven lights up and then just as quickly flickers out. “It doesn’t make any sense. Be careful, Jen,” I say into my radio. “Gazelle or not, whatever it is, it’s getting real close.”
“I still don’t see anything,” Jennifer replies as dot number eight blinks on.
“The only way that Savior girl could see Miss Cheng,” Dr. Pierce mumbles to himself, “is if she had access to the mainframe’s video feed . . . or motion sensors . . . or, oh no . . .”
Circle nine begins flickering on the map, and Dr. Pierce quickly puts his walkie-talkie to his lips. “Wait! Miss Cheng, did you say that the lights are on in Sector C?”
“Yes,” replies Jennifer. “I can even just make out the top of Dome Three from here.”
“Major Brogan!” Dr. Pierce blurts into his radio. “What’s your position?”
“We’re in the fire escape stairwell of the admin building at the southern end of Sector B,” says Jonah. “My magnetic key card worked on the lock and saved us having to bust in, so we’re making good time.”
“Look out the window, Major!” shouts Dr. Pierce. “Can you see warehouse eighteen from where you are?”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“We’re nearing the fifth-floor access door, and yes, I . . . I can see it,” replies Jonah.
“The warehouse door, is it open or closed?”
“What?” says Jonah.
“The large retractable door! Is the door to warehouse eighteen open?” Dr. Pierce’s eyes dart anxiously from side to side behind his glasses as he waits for an answer.
On the slate the tenth and final orange circle lights up, and Bit grabs my walkie-talkie hand. “Jenny, the last sensor has been tripped,” she says into my radio. “Whoever or whatever is out there should be in sight in a few seconds.”
Suddenly Jonah’s voice issues from our radios. “Oh no, Graham . . . warehouse eighteen is open.”
Dr. Pierce’s face drops.
“It is her, I can see her!” yells Jennifer. “Gazelle! Over here!”
“Miss Cheng!” Dr. Pierce shouts into his radio. “Get back inside the hatch and lock it behind you, right now!”
“She’s seen me, too! She’s coming this way!” yells Jennifer. “Wow! She’s so fast!
“No!” bellows Dr. Pierce. “Get back inside the hatch!”
“Get underground, Jennifer!” shouts Jonah.
“What?” she replies. “Say again please.”
“Get in the hatch!” shouts Jonah.
From Dr. Pierce’s walkie-talkie I can hear the spaced-out thuds of Gazelle’s bounding feet getting louder and louder.
“Slow down!” Jennifer yells. “Gazelle! Stop!”
“Oh no, please no,” whispers Jonah.
Suddenly a shrill and panicked scream wails from the walkie-talkies and echoes throughout the tunnel. The sound of something whooshing quickly through the air issues through the radio speakers, and in the very next instant Jennifer’s desperate howl is abruptly cut short by a brutal thud, a wet crunch . . . and then silence.
“Jenny!” I bark into my radio.
There’s no answer.
“Jennifer!” I shout again.
Nothing.
“What . . . what just happened?” asks a confused-looking Brody.
“I can see them,” says Jonah, his voice cracking. “Gazelle . . . she . . .”
“She kicked Jennifer right in the head!” Percy shouts in the background. “There’s so much blood, and . . . and she’s not moving.”
“Oh my lord,” whispers Professor Francis.
“We can use the tunnel to reach Jenny and bring her back to the lab,” I say into my radio.
“No,” replies Jonah. “There’s no point. Jennifer is gone.”
“Gone? As in dead?” I ask.
“Yes, she’s dead,” Jonah replies gravely.
Margaux gasps and clasps a hand over her mouth as Bit and I look at each other in bewildered shock.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“There isn’t much left of her head, so, yes . . . I’m sure,” Jonah says bluntly.
“And now Gazelle is standing over Jennifer’s body, staring right at us, pointing,” says Percy.
“Red . . . ,” Professor Francis says in the background. “Why are her eyes glowing . . . red?”
“And what on earth is that thing attached to her face?” says Percy.
“I don’t understand,” says Brody. “What’s happening?”
“I’d like to know the answer to that question myself, Mr. Sharp,” says an audibly shaken Professor.
“I told her she’d be safe,” mumbles a clearly perturbed Jonah. “I told her everything would be OK.”
“Well it’s freakin’ not!” shouts Brent, his heavy breathing steadily creeping toward hyperventilation. “You lied and now she’s dead, just like everyone else is!”
“Calm down,” I say, looking over at him.
“Don’t you tell me what to do, freak!” he shouts manically.
“Is that Mr. Fairchild I can hear?” says the Professor. “What on earth is he doing at the hatch?”
“Brent and Margaux decided to come with us,” I reply.
“I don’t know if that’s a wise idea,” says the Professor. “Perhaps they should stay down in the shelter until—”
“Hey!” Brody interrupts, pointing at the slate. “The light, it’s blinking again.”
“We’ve got another seismic reading,” Bit says shakily as the first orange circle begins flickering.
This time the faint, distant rhythm of multiple weighted footsteps can clearly be heard rumbling through the ground.
“Copy that,” replies Jonah as he snaps back into a military tone. “Listen, we’re carrying on to the roof. Stick to the plan. When the R.A.M.s trip the last sensor, go for the dome.” And with a hiss of white noise, he breaks contact.
The looks on everyone’s faces range from Bit’s and Brody’s complete shock and Margaux’s confused bewilderment all the way up to Brent’s contorted expression of rising panic.
“Can someone tell me what the hell is happening?” shrieks Margaux. “Why did that girl kill Jennifer?”
“Gazelle was scouting ahead,” Dr. Pierce says under his breath. “She was assessing the threat.”
“But . . . why would she do that?” Bit asks as she glares at Dr. Pierce. A serious-looking Dr. Pierce doesn’t respond; he’s just crouching there, frowning and staring into space. I can see the guilt painted on his face. He knows something; that much is obvious, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess it has something to do with that warehouse in Sector C.
“Graham!” I snap at him, and he flinches. “Why would one of the Saviors attack one of us?”
“Attack?” yells Brent. “She murdered Jennifer!”
“I know!” I bark as I throw a stern glare at the clearly distraught Brent. I turn back to Dr. Pierce. “Gazelle saved my life, and then suddenly, out of the blue, she does this? It just doesn’t make any sense. You know something, so tell us. What are we dealing with here?”
He looks at me over the top of his glasses with an icy glare. “Warehouse eighteen.”
“What is warehouse eighteen?” asks Bit.
Dr. Pierce takes his glasses off, wipes the lenses on the sleeve of his lab coat, and lets out a sigh. “In the early days it was a scientist’s dream to work for Richard Blackstone; it really was. Developing technology based on his discoveries and research was . . . awe inspiring.” Dr. Pierce props his glasses back onto his nose and strangely chuckles to himself.
“The sheer brilliance of his mind was blinding to behold, and that’s what’s so funny . . . in a way, it really was blinding. Most of us, including myself, chose to ignore the moral implications of what we were doing. We just put our heads down, worked on our projects, and marveled at our achievements, never once stopping to ask whether or not we should.”
“What the hell are you babbling about, old man?” says Brent.
Dr. Pierce lets out a weary sigh. “Warehouse eighteen is where the unauthorized prototypes are stored. Blackstone Technologies manufactures weapons for the military, so it’s required to submit details of military projects to officials of the United Alliance. They decide whether the technology is, as they put it, ‘ethically acceptable.’ If a weapon design is deemed to be morally objectionable, then manufacturing is ceased and any existing prototypes are locked away inside . . .”
“Warehouse eighteen,” Bit says ominously.
Dr. Pierce nods. “Most of the prototypes are infantry weapons, ammunition, and a few nasty artificial toxins and viruses. But others, well . . . others are computer-controlled devices. And if warehouse eighteen is open, unfortunately for us, it seems that Onix has activated some of those devices and . . . let them out.”
“Let what out?” I ask.
Dr. Pierce looks at me in defeat. “Their official designation is Prototype X-27, but around the lab the development team rather morbidly referred to them as ‘Lobots.’”
“And what exactly are these . . . Lobots?” I ask.
“Well,” Dr. Pierce says, shifting uncomfortably. “Essentially they’re behavior-modification devices that run along the ground seeking out movement or any human heat signature.”
“They can see your body heat?” asks Brody. “Like a rattlesnake can? I saw that on a survival show once.”
“In a similar way I suppose,” replies Dr. Pierce. “The X-27 can inject venom like a snake, too, but in their case it’s a paralyzing agent. Once a victim is immobilized the X-27 clamps onto their head and takes command of their higher functions, effectively turning the subject against their own comrades.”
All I can do is shake my head in disbelief.
“So one of those Lobots got Gazelle?” asks Brody.
“And made her kill Jenny,” utters Margaux.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” replies Dr. Pierce. “The X-27s receive information from Onix, so when Bettina asked how Gazelle could have sensed Jennifer from that distance I suspected the possibility that a Lobot may have attached itself to her and was monitoring the facility’s motion sensors. When Major Brogan said warehouse eighteen was open . . . well, that’s when I knew.”
“This is freaking crazy!” blurts Brent. “Am I the only one who thinks this whole damn place is a slaughterhouse built by insane people?”
“Calm down, baby,” Margaux coos as she strokes Brent’s arm.
“I’m right though,” Brent says as he pulls away from her and looks around the group. “I know you’re all thinking it.”
I try to tune Brent out as I turn back to Dr. Pierce. “What do these Lobots look like?”
“Well, let’s just say that I hope no one here is afraid of spiders.”
“Oh please don’t tell me they look like spiders,” says Bit.
“Sorry. But that’s exactly what they look like. Their design suits their purpose.”
“Slaughterhouse. House of horrors. Take your pick,” Brent murmurs.
“Is there anything we can do to help Gazelle?” I ask. “How do we get that Lobot thing off her?”
“When we reset Onix we can deactivate the Lobots, but there’s no telling what state Gazelle might be in after that,” says Dr. Pierce. “I only witnessed the results of very early prototypes, and they were only ever tested on primates. Unfortunately most of them were rendered brain-dead by the process. Personalities were wiped clean. All that was left was an empty shell. Lights on, no one home.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper solemnly.
“You lobotomized monkeys?” says Bit, her voice dripping with disgust.
“Chimpanzees and baboons actually,” replies Dr. Pierce.
“Oh god,” Bit says with a nauseous look of realization. “They’re called Lobots because they lobotomize their victims.”
“Like I said, a rather morbid little nickname. But I never worked on them. I only read a few progress reports and watched research videos, I swear on my wife’s grave,” says Dr. Pierce.
“You make me sick,” says Margaux.
“Look, the Special Tactics Department used my neural-interface technology and bastardized it. Believe me, it was meant for a much greater purpose. I never intended my creation to be used in such a crude manner.”
“Tell your excuses to Jenny,” grunts Brent as he begins nervously wringing his hands again. “See if it makes any damn difference.”
Dr. Pierce sighs and stares off into space. Brody breaks the uncomfortable silence. “So what do we do now?” he says, looking around at all of us.
“This doesn’t change anything. We carry on,” says Bit. “What other choice do we have?”
“We hide, that’s what,” Brent says as his eyes dart from side to side. “We hide underground, and we wait until someone comes to rescue us.”
“That’s already been discussed; you know it’s not an option,” I say, watching him closely. His erratic behavior is beginning to concern me.
“Well, then as soon as those R.A.M.s reach the last sensor, we run,” says Brent. “We forget about the damned computer, we go straight for the bus, and we’re home free.”
“And abandon Jonah, Percy, and the Professor?” I glare at him. “Sit down and shut up,” I snap. “You’re seriously losing it.”
Brent flumps indignantly against the wall of the tunnel. Margaux shuffles over beside him and tries to console him by stroking his hair and whispering something soothing in his ear.
“Dr. Pierce, how many of those things are out there?” asks
Bit.
“I don’t know. Like I mentioned before, I didn’t work on them,” he murmurs. “But unauthorized prototypes aren’t mass-produced, so I’m guessing there might be three or four? No more than half a dozen at the most.”
“Ha-ha, ha-ha, this is hilarious,” Brent blurts. “So now, as well as thirty-foot-tall robots with huge machine guns in their arms, I have to deal with brain spiders that are going to turn me into a homicidal maniac? I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head and getting to his feet. “But this is too much. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”
“Then stay down here!” I shout.
“Yes, perhaps you should, you seem extremely agitated,” says Dr. Pierce. “We’ll come back and get you when Onix has been reset.”
Brent starts shaking his head and grinning disturbingly as he edges along the wall of the tunnel. “No . . . you won’t come back. Because you’ll all be dead or . . . or you’ll be wandering around with freaking Lobots plugged into your brains! We need to get to the bus, right now!”
“Hey, bro. Calm down,” says Brody. “We’ve got a plan, remember?”
“No, I won’t calm down, bro,” Brent growls. “And the plan sucks. None of you are thinking straight, but I see this for what it is. It’s everyone for themselves now . . . and I don’t know about all of you . . . but I wanna live!”
All of a sudden Brent dashes toward Dr. Pierce, grabs him by the collar of his lab coat, and roughly pulls him away from the mouth of the metal tube. A startled Dr. Pierce sprawls into our little group, knocking me and Bit backward into Brody, who bumps against Margaux.
“Brent!” Margaux screeches as she awkwardly pushes off the wall and scrambles to her feet. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll bring help, princess!” Brent yells as he lunges over Dr. Pierce’s legs. “I’m coming back for you!”
I crawl out from under the swearing old man just in time to see Brent disappear into the tube. “No!” I shout as I leap up and dart toward the opening. Margaux is closer to the pipe than I am, and she springs in the same direction, accidentally veering into my path as she makes a beeline for the hole. I collide into her back, and we both tumble onto the grating. I look up into the pipe and see Brent has nearly reached the hatch at the top. I push off Margaux, quickly thrust my radio into my satchel, and dive into the tube.
