Forearms crossed like the letter X, Abell blasted through the door between the flashing panels, clipping one taking it off its mounts. He slammed the lanky drunk hard against the rearmost wall cracking it, along with most of David’s ribs. The hit squeezed every last molecule of air from his lungs and forced the old revolver further into the back of his throat. But still, he could only breathe out; his lungs were vacuum bags without a vacuum. The feeling, getting-the-wind-knocked-out, took on a new status of unpleasant offense. His body spasmed and gasped making runty gurgles. The deep-throated barrel caused his eyes to fight their sockets.
He was a diamond, harder than steel. Abell towered over the beady-eyed wriggler. His eyes were a drill and his breath blasts of hot steamy rage. Holding still for a moment, arms remaining crossed, pressing, he thought of Amy once more, and stared unto David. Severely disgusted by the worm, his puny gasping, useless jerking and squirming, his body trying to continue live—this organism, trying to live. It was a side of Abell that rarely if ever came out; he was acting on pure hatred and focused it onto one place: the thin nose between David’s beady sunken eyes. Right now David was his bête noire, and no person on earth wanted to be Abell’s bête noire.
Now, Abell perceived David as an it, no longer deserving a name, title, or even the simple pronoun, he. And it spasmed as if to vomit, still unable to exhale a breath, then its eyeballs rolled back. It was all involuntary now, the human organism discharged a spasm of attempts to overcome its moribund state.
But before it could go limp Abell snatched the gun, grasping hand and all, its fingers still trapped around the grip clenching the trigger. Ooh, a nasty exit. The gun barrel’s sight snapped its front tooth and slit its upper lip. The sharp pain instantly reversed the coming darkness of its fate and it finally took in a little air. Abell continued the torture. He squeezed hard breaking its fingers around the handle.
Ron came in. He winced at the cracking sounds, watching a side of Abell he’d never imagined, nothing like what he’d seen from the hologram table all these years—this time he had real and pedestaled emotion. He was a giant gone haywire, breathing loudly, flexing in an almost abnormal way. He was bright-red over every inch of his body and his clothes were ripping. And Ron got scared. He wanted to yell stop, but the shock, the sight of it…
Abell twisted its wrist, spinning it around simultaneously, forced the limb up along its spine, then shook until the distorted fingers let the pistol fall. It hit the floor and discharged, POW! Abell didn’t even flinch as the bullet grazed his leg.
Ron instinctively hunched and the bullet ricocheted inside the room then he made his way around the torture heading to the leftmost inner control panel. Still wincing and trying to turn a deaf ear he started doing what he needed to.
It finally caught another breath with a long gurgling wheeze, but Abell wasn’t finished. He grabbed it by the back of the neck and lifted. Its legs dangled like uncooked french-fries and a shoe fell off. After its first full inhale it managed a girlish scream and spats of blood ejected. The pitch peaked when its elbow snapped. Face still beet red, Abell let out another roar and took it right toward the polished steel wall next to the storage room door. Its feet dangled, moving as if trying to run backwards, to prevent what was about to happen. It was a hood ornament on a city bus and its eyelids opened so wide the eyeballs once again began the de-socket procedure, but the wall came quickly. Complete sobriety, as unwanted as it was, arrived with the collision. The short-takeoff charge was more than enough to finish its punishment.
A crunching crack! Its face smacked the wall first, the body followed. The wind, knocked out again—all cries ceased. And Abell released. It fell to the floor, a limp noodle of brokenness.
Ron came over with handcuffs as David’s unconscious body wheezed, getting only enough air to cleave life. His cheek bone was broken. The misplaced bump that was once near his right eye… Forget it, Ron thought, No more. And he turned at the gruesome sight. Shocked, he looked up at Abell who stood huffing, a contracting tower of muscle.
Abell began the transformation, back to normal—if there could ever be such a thing in this mad world. Since his first log in with Amy he’d noticed the changes, and realized then, looking down at David’s body, he would have to learn to control his now stronger emotions, imagination, passions—and rage.
“Glad you're on my side,” Ron said shaking his head slowly. Abell just stood there, quiet, looking down and huffing deep, changing back into the gentle quiet giant everyone knew him to be. His color returned, and he became white once again. “Abell, can you just watch him. I need to manage some things in here.” Abell nodded.
“Ted, can you hear me,” Ron said calling the broadcast room. “Ted, Devon, do you—”
“We read you Ron,” Devon said. “You’re in?”
“Yes, we’ve regained control and power is at 100% but I’m seeing many of our defenses are down.”
“More bad news Ron,” Ted said. “The broadcast feed, it’s in the red.”
“Oh no,” Ron said slowly. He turned to the defense tracking screen. He’d been busy with other procedures and never thought, not in a—no! The shock of seeing it was a capacitor discharging into his spine and his legs became rubber bands. “No no no. It can’t—” He froze.
“What Ron?” Ted asked.
“No better here Ted. The perimeter ships, all of them, they’re down. And—we have incoming. Wall lasers are, still operable.”
“Nothing we can do now but lock down,” Ted said. “We’re already getting the entire team re-logged in. But unfortunately it will take a while until the feed is back up, at least a half hour, even with our best lenders. There’s very little left in the buffer. It might drive the lasers for a while, our systems, but if it goes to zero, we’re dead forever. We’re—gonna take a beating.”
Devon sighed looking up to Ted who was standing over him. Ted shook his head slowly. The twins, both, had their hands on their faces, elbows on their desks. Behind them lenders filled every bed, and were trying to relax. Lower level lenders were instructed to remain quiet and stay in the break room. Ted began sliding levers for those pairs that were ready to log in.
50. Red Alert
The great wall resounded the blaring alarms. It was eerily perturbing, with an echo that lingered making it continual torture. Always seeing those large silver horns, mounted around the town on tall wooden posts, the thought didn’t match the true reality of finally hearing its slow and rhythmic whoooooo-epp, whoooooo-epp. Inside and out red lights flashed, the Jewel City Defense Center safe room, destination for all. The townspeople, carrying chickens and anything else they could clasp, hurried inside and were promptly directed by security personnel into the safe room.
Botanist Kim Mills carried a silver suitcase of seeds. Rob Price helped her with other important items from the gardens; behind them four large men had the meat synthesizer. Some carried screens; others had various items from the library. The youngest of the town, all older teenagers now, ran ahead carrying jugs of water as instructed.
Inside the bay three strong men pulled on the thick chain and the massive outer door began to close. They closed it part way, keeping readiness.
Louder than the sirens, a deafening holler came from behind several layers of scrambling folks. Bertha. She blasted through and all made way at the sound of her voice. Like a runaway freight train—horn included—she had the front of Amy’s stretcher, two men held the rear, several nurses surrounded her and the docs followed carrying medical equipment. Hilda and Tim entered escorting Jessie Star. Seniors and those carrying bundles of food and other heavy items came last. The code Rico had told Ed to deliver denoted there was some time, about an hour, and instructed everyone to save what could be saved in that time frame, anything important—for there was a possibility everything else would be torched. And it looked like everyone was going to make it, being about ninety people left.
Ed Barton and Jose Limon stood just outside the door waving people in
to the one hundred by one hundred foot bay. Mitch and new security team member Joey directed people from there, left into the more protected safe room. There was plenty of space in the massive bay area but the safe room was almost impenetrable, yet, about half the size. Crowded, like sardines in an elevator, they continued to pack in.
And then, it caught his eye. Jose saw it first, “Ed look!” Aghast, he raised a finger. The pointing and his shocked expression was enough to spread the word like wildfire on a windy day. One after another saw what almost couldn’t be believed. The freak thunderstorm had cleared, but this was something else. A thick dark swarm of drones flew over the wall due west behind the gardens and slivered into town descending like a heavy black fog. They passed through the operational forcefield leaving a halo of blue flashes—as if there was nothing there. They must of prepared with countermeasures—an anti-frequency! Perimeter defense lasers began firing intense red laser beams from the top of the wall but made little more than a dent. There were far too many. The swarm divided into several branches each slinking its way down and about. One thick stream maintained a beeline and headed directly toward the facility. Ed’s eyes bulged, even further than they’d popped out earlier. Some, were not going to make it.
“Move it people, let’s go. Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” Jose commanded.
“Here they come we have to shut the door now!” Ed yelled backing up with a frozen stare. Then he was shoved aside—still being outside the door—and the remaining people panicked and flooded in. Jose, being very thin, managed to merge with the flow and slip inside. But Ed couldn’t get a window, the flow of citizens was unremitting.
Inside Mitch saw the threat and picked up where Ed left off, “Shut it, shut it now. Shut it or we’re all dead!” Tim and Hilda left Jessie alone and rushed to help fence and direct the flow of citizens. The once cold metal box was now a sweaty steamy panic room.
Chickens were tossed, clothes dropped, food and water, whole bags of stuff—everything they’d been carrying. And many tripped. Many were trampled creating a living ramp at the entrance.
The three Goliaths, near Abell’s size, were now heaving on the chain with every ounce of strength they could muster. And the steel thirty by twenty foot door picked up unstoppable momentum, closing fast.
A low wailing cacophony could be heard, rapidly rising in tone. The sound of a tornado, made distinct with a ringing discordant screech. It quickly drowned out the noise from the sirens and screams.
A chicken darted in through the remaining sliver—likely kicked unintentionally—as well as many last second squeezers. Shut—a dull resonating CLANG. Everything half inside was flattened or snipped, horrifically, including the blue-sleeved arm of a security officer. Gasps and screams echoed inside the now sealed bay. The horizontal steel bar came down with an ear-piercing CLANG adding reinforcement to the door, and a jolting stab to already panicked hearts.
Inside the well lit bay area the remaining people hustled chaotically into the safe room. The flashing red-alert light added desperation to the minds—of most—of the townspeople; sadly many didn’t make it. Cries took on a ghostly howl; and phantom cries of many still outside, pounding on the bay door. Like sheep but standing, tightly compressed, back to back, all facing outward, the red strobe gleamed like a countdown, glinting in hundreds of terrified eyes.
The larger outer bay door would hold, but not long, as it was just known. And with the enormity of what they’d just seen—how could anything in the world stop something like that? People calmed slightly as the mentally strong assuaged the weak and screaming, and cooperatively everybody squeezed in. Survival instincts kicked in, they wanted to hear it. Although muffled by the door, the hushed tone made it possible to hear the noise outside, a humming thunder, a crescendoing screeching hurricane.
The Docs now held Amy’s stretcher in the rear. The large men that had been holding it put women on their shoulders to make space. Other giants did the same. Bertha still had the front and they were the last inside, trying to fit the awkward stretcher. The same three men again worked the chains for the safe room door. Teens stood on the meat synthesizer to get a last glimpse over the crowd.
The bay was empty when suddenly the door to the lender facility slid open. It was Jim and—someone else. Rico had departed for the control room. Jim saw Bertha and the docs carrying Amy, trying to accommodate her inside the crowded room. Closing slowly, the safe room door had ten feet to go until it sealed.
“Bertha!” Jim yelled across the empty bay. They were rotating the stretcher to get in deeper inside. Young Doc heard and relayed the call.
Like a barrage of Gatling guns all firing at once the machines punched the outer door. “Bring Amy!” The thick steel bulged from the hit and people plugged their ears. Jim yelled again, his voice now soundless in company of the pounding resonance. The noise on the outer bay door grew ear-piercingly louder. Cutting and drilling, and knocking like that of a thousand sledge hammers stifled cries.
Jim motioned widely with his arms. “Bring Amy! Over here!” Bertha turned to see him waving them over. She motioned at the Docs and they rotated Amy back around again. Others made a path and they ran out just in time. The two-foot thick safe room door closed behind them with a bong.
A hole, small but growing appeared in the outer bay door. The noise increased to level: painful. And the machines leaked inside. Smaller drones entered while others worked on increasing the size of the breach, burning its edges with a blinding yellow-white welding spark. An orange glow tinged the edges and molten red glaze dripped inside. The first intruders, no bigger than a dinner plate, paused as a group, hovering, scanning the interior with red flat beams; then quickly, they noticed the stretcher being carried across the room.
The bay’s lasers initiated targeting drones as they neared Amy, burning them to black ash. But the defense was becoming more and more useless with every second. Other holes appeared until the door was cheese. The first large hole erupted like a volcano’s vomiting maw. Masses flooded the bay. Tire-sized attack drones forced their way through. They were all different, no two alike. They swirled as one, prepping a formation, as if ready deliver a targeted sockdolager, then plunged toward Amy, Bertha, and the Docs. Wall lasers took out the front line only to reveal fresh drones, thousands, ready to die for the hit.
“They’re not gonna make it!” Jim exclaimed. He leapt out but something grabbed him and threw him back.
Nelman used an extraordinary strength and tossed Jim back inside like he was a sheet of paper—then—put a hand on his heart. He conveyed a single willing nod, and his gentile iridescent blue and green eyes blinked resolutely. Time stopped. Stillness, silence. Jim received the blink and the touch—like the hand of an angel. True goodness sunk deep into his bones with an overwhelming warmth. His hope for mankind, faith in possibility, and purpose was completely restored in that second. He nodded in return, conveying a sincere thank you with his eyes.
Nelman turned—time and the loud roar returned. He vaulted into the bay. Like a cheetah his leap was fast and magnificent. With a spin he lunged nimbly between the stretcher and the now focused swarm. The hit cracked his plastic chest and the force of the interception pushed him back hard enough to crash into Amy’s stretcher. Bertha became steel and thrust her weight to maintain balance and the Docs helped to stabilized it. The extra second bought them just enough time to enter. The front wheel of the stretcher caught the steps and the momentum flung it end over end. Amy flew out plowing into Jim. He padded her fall landing hard on his back; her unconscious body lay tightly wrapped in his arms.
Jim pointed to the door button and yelled loud enough to make his lungs bleed. “Door!” Young Doc slammed the button and the door activated. It crunched a lunging drone and couldn’t completely close. The drone seemed to be transforming in front of their eyes, adapting, and sent out small arms that lit with a shocking blue light. Old Doc was up and quickly kicked the deadly arm. It was damaged, its thrusters smashed, but it wouldn’t
give up and kept reaching for them using a myriad of tools. Jim booted it from the floor. He reached up handing Young Doc the crowbar which he quickly started waving to smash the others attempting to enter the breach. These were obviously not the drones of yesterday: hordes of the man-made variety, with upgrades. These were definitely, something else, something more, something terrible.
Jim, lying back to the floor holding Amy, could see through the eight-inch space. Nelman fought for his life; he fought for theirs too. A selfless act, he had saved Amy, Bertha, and the Docs—maybe more.
Nelman was overwhelmed but didn’t give up. His white plastic shell half melted, his face mostly burnt off, he kept on. He was an amazing sight to see, but sadly so. His joints became unrestrained and he could move in fascinating ways: his wrists, arms, legs, torso, all of him could twist and rotate with a full range of motion far outside the bounds of human capability. He was a force to be reckoned with. He had speed, agility, and incredible power. His hands grabbed at the drones and crushed them like tin foil, tossing them off like minuscule ticks, mere annoyances, but there were just too many, and he soon dropped to a knee.
A small spider-like drone clutched onto the top of his head and lit a drilling red beam. A large chrome drone hovered above and behind him as he vigorously gave it his all, tossing and twisting—managing amazingly well. The drone, like it knew the humans were watching, hesitated, and its red glowing eyes laughed. It reared forward diving into Nelman who instantly began to vibrate vehemently. And the eight-inch drill burned through his chest. Smaller drones clung to his body with their multiple attachments burning and shocking, cutting and tearing, and weighing him flat to the floor. In a final attempt he pushed upward and faced the group now safe inside; as if he wanted to tell them: NEVER GIVE UP.
Lenders Page 42
