by P. R. Adams
“They’re going to make the inner buildings,” Meyers said. He may have been disgusted by the use of nerve gas, but he seemed to appreciate its effectiveness.
Rimes tracked survivors as they staggered through the wisps of smoke created by the mortar rounds. The air was so still that the white columns seemed frozen, suspended in time. Where someone ran close enough, the smoke followed hopefully in their wake. It was a surreal, dreamlike image that left Rimes feeling disconnected from the moment. He shook his head, then returned to his bloody work.
The mortars fired again. The shuttle swooped over the complex, disgorging more of its deadly cargo, and the last of the survivors sealed themselves in the inner buildings. A grenade roared in the stairwell below the roof entry hatch. Then, the night went silent.
Rimes scanned first the complex grounds, then the roiling heavens. The first hint of a breeze touched them, promising relief from the suffocating night.
“Not even half of them,” Trang said. He tried to rub at his face but only managed to bump into the protective headgear.
Gwambe shook his head. “We don’t really have anything to punch through buildings like those, Colonel. Maybe we should have taken a machine gun or two instead of the mortars? Maybe pinned them down so the gas could be more effective?”
“We didn’t want them pinned down.” Rimes stared at the inner buildings, and a dark smile spread across his face. Lightning struck in the distance, and thunder boomed as loud as any of the explosions had. “Ladell, they’ve sealed themselves inside.”
Another signal sounded over the open channel. This time, everyone heard it. They looked around, confused.
Except for Rimes.
Meyers looked from Rimes to the buildings. “Why report that to Ladell? Why would he care where they’re at?”
“I told you, those buildings were previously used for biological research. They’re designed to keep things out, but they’re also designed to keep things in. Ladell had a time of it, but he got into their systems. He’s just sent an emergency decontamination signal.”
45
16 June, 2174. Kennesaw, Georgia.
* * *
Rimes walked among the dead, warily picking his way around craters and the fallen. The ghostly silence and clinging smoke rendered the battlefield into a nightmare. Meyers and the rest trailed behind in a staggered line, seeming similarly affected. The dead stared heavenward, their faces reflecting agony, confusion, and dismay. Where the sentries were without protective gear—more than he would have expected—the facial expressions were more intense and vivid.
Rimes wished for the wind to come, to clear the field of the smoke and whatever remained of the X-17.
And the souls. Carry away the souls of the dead.
He shook his head. There were no souls, just dead bodies. Soldiers, like him, used by uncaring masters.
The screech of engines announced the approach of Yama’s shuttle. It streaked from the clouds and settled in the center of the southern landing pad. Ji’s shuttle came into view seconds later and circled the complex. Yama exited his shuttle with Barlowe close behind. After two quick passes, Ji landed on the northern pad long enough for Imogen to disembark, then took to the skies again.
As Imogen approached the heavens opened, unleashing hammering gusts of wind and a hot, heavy rain that quickly impeded visibility.
“Guess you were right about the storm holding,” Meyers said.
Rimes looked up into the darkness. “Yeah.”
He waited outside the tower’s emergency exit, nodding as Barlowe and the genies came to a halt a few meters away. Lightning flashed across the sky, followed immediately by the crash of thunder.
A rational part of Rimes’s brain said the X-17 was long gone, carried off by the wind. Anything that had managed to congeal would be diluted by the pounding rain. He knew that. He knew that anything other than close, immediate exposure to the gas was ineffective. Yet no one was removing headgear.
After seeing what the X-17 could do, Rimes understood everyone’s fear. It was a terrible thing for a warrior to see something invisible and intangible slay so easily. Everyone stood rigid, anxious. Battle-hardened soldiers and highly trained genies alike seemed to feel vulnerable and powerless in the face of the invisible killer.
Rimes pulled his mask up and breathed deep. Slowly, tentatively, the others followed suit.
“Now, only the tower remains,” Imogen said after a moment. She seemed embarrassed. She looked skyward, blinking in the rain, then looked from Rimes to Barlowe. “How many do you estimate survived the decontamination?”
Barlowe shook his head. “Impossible to say, really. They weren’t following standard protocols. People were moving through security in groups, so the systems were a mess. There were forty-six people registered in this building at last count. Assume half made it? The top five floors are sealed off from the rest. They hadn’t installed any labs in there before the company failed. I’d guess any survivors would be there.”
Rimes held his left hand near the door; he could feel warmth through the glove. “What are we going to see when we go through?”
“It’s an emergency exit, so we’ll first see a stairwell.” Barlowe examined the door, then glanced up at the tower wall before pulling off his gloves and placing his hands near the door’s surface. “Ash. Possibly some dying embers. Not likely, though. It’s a thermobaric mechanism. The system they installed here was pretty advanced: nanofuel, magnesium particles, compartmental, high-pressure dispersal, and a burst temperature above three thousand Celsius. If that didn’t kill them, the pressure did. In the confined spaces they had in there, you’re probably looking at over four hundred psi.”
Meyers whistled in admiration. “Even that nano-armor they’re using wouldn’t have helped much against that.”
“Exactly.” Barlowe beamed as if he were a student being praised by his favorite teacher.
Rimes marveled at the disconnect that allowed someone to fear nuclear weapons and nerve gas while admiring something like a fuel-air explosive because it was defined as conventional. As far as he was concerned, the objective in any war was to defeat the enemy. Why it mattered whether a bullet or a sliver of graphene or a flame as hot as the sun did the work was beyond his ability to understand.
“What about power?” Rimes checked his gun. “Lights? Door locks?”
“External power: off.” Barlowe quickly swept a hand in front of his face, apparently running through some external access to the tower’s systems. He nodded at the door. “No elevators. The locks would switch to default settings. If they had physical locks they’re still in place. If they have a generator that survived the burst, or if they have any emergency lighting, we may have some light.”
“Okay. Assume we don’t have lights, people.”
“We’ll want the protective gear again.” Barlowe looked around at those gathered. “If any of the seals breached, whatever air survived the purge is going to be hot and might contain some of the fuel. It’s going to stink. If the seals held, everything is going to be hot. Like this door. Concrete, metal…it’s all going to retain heat for a bit.”
“So you think there’s air?”
“I can’t see how there would be any left, Colonel. The seals should’ve held. They were built for that specific purpose. When we open the door the air’s going to be sucked in. Unless they had a lot of flammable materials stored in the stairwell and there’s still some sort of ember buried in an oxygen pocket, the fire is over. It’s the same story in those buildings.” Barlowe pointed at the four inner buildings. “The only difference is there wasn’t anywhere for them to hide in those.”
Rimes turned to his team. “Banh, Dunne, I want our route clear. No one gets past you. Any survivors or reinforcements show up, you stop them. The rest of you are with me.”
Rimes placed a charge on the door’s handle, then pulled his mask back down and stepped clear of the door. The others did the same, stepping around the side of the building.<
br />
The explosion sounded surprisingly quiet and flat, almost lost in the rain. A second pop sounded almost immediately. Rimes jogged around the corner and checked the door, worried the explosive had somehow broken down while in storage. The door was shut, blackened and warped where the explosion had scarred it.
“The vacuum.” Barlowe pointed at the closed door. “It pulled it shut again. Everything worked as advertised. It’s safe.”
Rimes advanced, carbine at the ready. He eyed the door suspiciously.
Trust.
His hand edged forward, ready to grip the handle and throw it wide.
A high, piercing whine echoed in the rain, and a hole appeared three centimeters from his hand.
“The outer buildings!” Banh pointed back toward the academy.
A chorus of piercing whines broke the silence, and Trang collapsed, his head a ruined, gory mess. Dengler screamed and dropped to the ground as a blast sheered off the top half of his left hand. Another shot caught him in the abdomen, and the screaming turned into a weak gurgling.
Rimes felt something punch him in the chest, and he thought he was dead. He looked down and saw his CAWS’ main assembly had been all but disintegrated by a blast, leaving him holding the forward grip and butt stock. Bits of the weapon were embedded in his coveralls and the armor beneath. He dropped and quickly took Trang’s weapon from his dead hands.
“Get to cover!” Rimes could see the others moving already.
Barlowe and Meyers ran for the southern inner building, Banh for the north. Imogen dropped next to Rimes; Dunne sprinted for the east inner building, Gwambe for the west. Yama dashed after Gwambe, initially mirroring his steps so that he provided some cover, then, as Gwambe approached the western building’s inner wall, leaping into the air a full five meters.
Rimes watched the leap for a moment, then turned his attention to the eastern flank. Chunks of cement exploded from the wall next to Dunne. Rimes tracked back to the likely source. Two gunmen were advancing, firing to keep Dunne pinned while another gunman sprinted for the wall on the opposite side from Dunne. Rimes squeezed a single shot off into the nearest gunman’s head, then did the same to the second gunman.
“Dunne, you’ve got someone on the opposite side of your building.” Rimes spun to his left and searched for Banh, spotting him leaning against the building, holding his left leg as shots tore into the eastern wall. “Banh, I see three advancing on the eastern side.”
“I see it, Colonel.” Banh’s voice was weak. “I have been shot. In the leg. I am pinned down.”
Rimes fired at the advancing group. They dropped, surprised by the unexpected gunfire. “Get onto the west side, see if you can work around to the north.” He fired another burst at the group, then muted the team channel. “Imogen, where did these guys come from?”
“Stragglers.” Imogen sounded uncertain. “They had to have been.”
“It doesn’t matter now, so long as this is the last of them.” Rimes sighted in on one of the gunmen who was apparently feeling particularly brave. A quick burst, and the gunman collapsed in a spray of blood. Rimes opened the team channel again. “Gwambe, status?”
“The genie flew over me, Colonel.” Gwambe sounded awed. “I think he killed them.”
“Can you confirm?” Rimes fired another burst, then switched out the magazine.
“Confirmed, Colonel. Two down. The genie is headed north. I think he intends to flank.”
“Gwambe, hold your position for the moment.” With Yama moving on his own and the sudden appearance of combatants, Horus’s feed became more critical than ever. We need to operate as a unit, damn it! “Banh, hold your fire. Use cover. Yama’s coming around from the west.”
“There is something else coming from that building, Colonel,” Banh said. “Dogs!”
Rimes tried to spot the dogs, but he couldn’t see anything. He tried sighting in on the gunmen, but they were prone, impossible to see. He growled, frustrated. Thunder drowned the sound out. “Lonny, I need imagery from Horus, north side.”
“Give me a second. We’ve got some heavy shit over here.”
Stragglers? With dogs? It doesn’t make sense.
Lightning flashed in long, brilliant strokes, echoing his frustration. The rain—already intense—somehow managed to worsen, something Rimes hadn’t thought possible without it becoming solid sheets of water. A deafening crack sounded, as if the ground had split open.
“Clear on the east, Colonel,” Dunne said. “Where d’ya need me?”
“Check that building. Make sure it’s empty. Find out where those guys came from.”
The piercing blasts continued, intermittently louder than the storm. Rimes listened, trying to locate the greatest concentration of fire. He thought it was coming from the south. Suddenly, Horus’ overlay activated again. Meyers had brought it down close enough for a tighter view.
East and west, Horus showed nothing but green, Dunne and Gwambe. To the north Yama was accelerating toward six red forms—the dogs—closing on Banh’s position. The dogs changed course suddenly, heading for Yama. Rimes confirmed the two gunmen were still staying put. To the south, Barlowe and Meyers were pinned down. Four red forms were stationary, six were advancing.
“Gwambe, focus your fire south,” Rimes said. “I believe we have more dogs down there. Meyers, put some grenades out. Five meters south of your position. Quick.”
Rimes sent another burst at the prone gunmen. He looked at Imogen. “Can you control Yama? He’s heading into—”
Imogen shook her head. “This is his mission. On the ground he is his own commander and will do what he wants.”
“Well he’s about to—”
“Colonel, I see them,” Banh said. “They are circling him. I have a shot.”
“Take it!”
Lightning again. Blinding. Thunder followed. Deafening. The storm was fully upon them, its intensity still rising.
Gunfire erupted. Yelping—so real that Rimes had to remind himself they were artificial replicas—sounded. Grenades exploded to the south.
“Colonel?” It was Dunne. “I’ve got a stairwell. Looks like it heads into the basement. I don’t hear anything from above. I think the building’s clea—”
Static.
Basement. Connecting tunnels? They knew somehow. Suspected some part of it.
Rimes cursed. “Check it.”
He muted the channel again and fired another suppressing burst, then got to his feet. “Imogen, head for the shuttle pad. Get Ji down here.”
Imogen looked at him. “You need me. This is not something you can do alone.”
“Go!” Rimes advanced, firing. The first burst missed; the second didn’t. The final gunman ran. Rimes sent a burst into the retreating gunman’s back, then switched his communication channel off mute to speak to his team again. “Banh, get out of there. Everyone, head for the shuttle pad. Dunne, cover Banh. Gwambe, cover Barlowe and Meyers, then run.”
Rimes watched Yama through Horus’ eyes. There was only a moment to spare, but in that moment, Rimes marveled at the genie’s abilities. The pack was down to two. Machine or not, they would not easily best Yama.
Rimes opened a channel to Barlowe and Meyers. “We missed something. The construction equipment. Could they have dug tunnels?”
“There were tunnels in the original plans,” Meyers said as he ran. “They were never completed.”
Dunne exited the east building and sprinted to intercept Banh. Barlowe and Meyers were doing what they could to put some distance between themselves and the closing dogs. Gwambe had eliminated the gunmen to the south, but he’d waited too long to leave his position. The dogs abandoned Barlowe and Meyers, advancing instead on Gwambe, cutting off his retreat.
Rimes fired, taking down one of the dogs, but the others closed and leapt upon Gwambe. Barlowe and Meyers paused as if to come to Rimes’s position. He waved them on. There would be no more deaths. They ran, reluctant, seemingly motivated by Gwambe’s screams.
; A quick glance to the north, and Rimes saw Yama was down. A single dog was advancing toward the tower. Rimes fired on the pack attacking Gwambe and another of the dogs fell. Gwambe’s screaming came to a stop.
Rimes ran for the tower’s emergency exit.
46
16 June, 2174. Kennesaw, Georgia.
* * *
Rimes hissed as the door clanged shut behind him. He’d stepped into a sauna, a flash furnace, a volcano. Ash was everywhere, puffing up and roiling like heavy smoke. Immediately, he felt the heat’s enervating presence sucking away his stamina. He pulled the mask down, even though he knew it wasn’t going to change anything. He staggered away from the door and headed into the darkness, where he thought he could make out the stairs’ vague shadows.
At first he did well, each step a rolling echo in the stairwell. He advanced a flight before having to stop, sweat salty on his lips. He blinked and gasped, desperately sucking in the mask’s oxygen, which burned his throat. His legs were jelly, his knees throbbing nubs of pain drained of elasticity and strength. The carbine felt like a stone slab. Below, the door banged in its frame, and he realized it wouldn’t keep the dogs out.
He moved on, legs weakening with each step.
It was worse in the darkness, a blackness that was near absolute. Small slivers of light trickled down from the upper levels.
Emergency lighting. Somehow survived the fire.
More banging came from below, and he understood the dogs were using their own primitive programming to overwhelm the door. It was warped already, and with each blow it bounced in its frame. It would warp more and eventually leave a gap big enough for a snout or a paw to get in, and then the wicked beasts would be in, coming for him as they had for Gwambe and Yama.
