by Hanks, Greg
Before he exited the room, he stopped.
One of his bodyguards noticed Repik’s contemplation. “Sir?”
After a minute, Repik turned back to the room.
“We’ve got one more hour before the world knows what’s happened. Give me a minute. I need to be alone.”
62
“We’re surrounded!” Dodge blasted into my already ringing ears.
Instead of Vexin offering me a hand this time, I opened my eyes to Tara. We held our cover from behind a giant metal crate slightly off its axis from the grenade blast.
“You’re okay?” I asked, noticing her other hand clutching her stomach. She was breathing hard and trying to regain focus.
She nodded. “The others are moving.” She turned to suppress a few soldiers to our right. “They’re gonna leave us if we don’t hurry!”
Tara wrapped her arm around my shoulder and looked me in the eyes.
“Don’t stop shooting,” I said, gripping my rifle in one hand.
We emerged from behind the metal crate, sprinting in a disoriented line and unloading our magazines on the flanking metal-heads. Sparks were flying everywhere. Bullets struck the ground around our feet. My suit sustained a few piercing rounds. Still, we kept our heads low and plowed through.
Another explosion rang to our right and two rectangular boxes flew past us. Together, we dodged the smoldering remains and leapt toward the connecting bridge. Everything seemed to converge upon us at that moment. A bullet caught my calf, but glanced off. However, my leg came out from under me and I fell behind.
“Go! Just go!” I shouted.
She didn’t even think twice about my request, scrambling back to me. Through a flashing tidal wave of bullets, we redoubled our efforts and barely made it across the bridge’s threshold.
Within seconds we were at the doorway, guarded by Vexin and Bollis providing us with cover fire. As soon as my feet left the clanking bridge, Bollis let out a sickening groan.
Our leader limped into the room and fell against the nearby wall, his shin spewing blood everywhere. Vexin quickly slammed the butt of his shotgun into the door release, sealing us inside.
We had reached a grand foyer with five exits. A front desk separated two doors, and on either side of the room, steps led down to other corridors. A giant freight elevator stood behind the desk.
“Let me see!” shouted Dodge, rushing over to Bollis and examining the giant hole in the lower part of his shin. The suit’s exterior had been blasted off, showing deep into Bollis’ tissue.
I looked up at Dodge with fearful eyes. “Don’t tell me those white pieces are—”
“Splintered bone,” he replied.
Tara gave us every medical supply she had in her pouches, laying them out before us.
“Okay . . . okay . . .” chanted Dodge, trying to figure out where things went.
Finally, he took out a long bandage and began stuffing it into the hole in Bollis’ suit. Our leader’s face scrunched and twisted in pain. The Mend Lash started to suck up the blood and turned dark red. The material started to fuse with Bollis’ tissues and Dodge continued to pile three more Lashes into the wound.
The blonde amiably patted Bollis’ cheek and grinned. “Hang in there, pappy.”
We remained in the dimly lit room for at least five minutes. Dodge was successful in removing the bullet and wrapped Bollis’ leg in a thick, synthetic bandage, compatible with the Oversuit.
“They’ve stopped,” said Vexin, listening at the entrance.
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t hear anything anymore.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I replied, turning to the group. “We need to move.”
“Give him a few more minutes,” Dodge countered. “Can you walk, Bollis?”
Bollis pressed his back against the wall and shuffled his way to a standing position. Dodge attempted to help, but his hand was knocked away.
“I’ll be fine,” Bollis said in his humble, gruff voice. “Stop worrying about me for God’s sake. Slate should be our only thought.”
Dodge stepped back. “Whatever you say, boss.”
As soon as Bollis made his first step, he gritted his teeth and practically fell over.
Dodge caught him and supported his arm over his back. “Fine, huh?”
“C’mon!” growled Vexin. “This way.”
Vexin stood by the right corner door. The words “Rectory Global Conference Station” read across the front.
“Let’s hope he’s not too far,” said Tara.
We made our way through a tight corridor, lined with dim lights and neon blue wall runners. Axxiol’s design was far different than Jersey City. Everything spoke of industry and hydraulics. The surfaces were the color of autumn leaves and the entire place smelled of oil and something else I couldn’t put my finger on.
It reminded me of the Corrupt Vista.
We climbed a set of stairs and followed the path as it curved downward, as if meeting in the absolute center of the Rectory. We turned down one final flight and the pathway merged with a symmetrical cousin from the other side of the building. At the apex of the two hallways, two double glass doors barred the way into the Global Conference Station.
“Bollis,” said Vexin, “I hope you’re not going to hold us back.” His voice carried the same brusque Vexin tone as usual.
“My leg’s hurt, not my brain,” Bollis snapped. “I’ll get through it just like I always have—I just need to compensate.”
Things were quiet. All eyes were on Bollis. Seeing him wounded like this made me extremely nervous. He was my true leader—my mentor. From the very first time I laid eyes on him, he had been there to answer my questions, to keep me calm. Well, okay, he didn’t provide a lot of answers at first. Still, the fear of losing him licked at my heels like flickering flames.
Tara stepped into view. “We’re not going to desert you.”
Dodge nudged Bollis in their supportive grasp. “We’ve got your back, dude.”
“Listen,” Bollis sighed, “I can’t promise you I’m going to live through this—”
“Bollis, stop . . . ” interrupted Dodge.
“No,” he continued, “it’s true. I’m wounded. I understand. I’m slow. But no matter what happens, all of you have to promise me that you’ll keep fighting. We’ve known people were gonna die. We prepared for it. So, promise me you won’t lose your heads. You’ve got to stop this, even if I can’t see it through to the end.”
More silence prevailed. I hated thinking about this. We were so close to Slate, we could finish this and be done before anything happened. Losing Celia was hard enough—and that still hadn’t fully hit me yet.
“I hate when you talk like that,” said Dodge, shaking his head. He stepped in front of his best friend and stared him in the eyes. “Ryan. We have always come out on top. Together. You and I. This isn’t going to be an exception.” His voice went quiet. “You can’t leave me, man.”
Bollis smiled faintly at his friend. He knew having morbid thoughts wasn’t the best remedy for fear. He knew Dodge was right to think positively. He braced Dodge on the shoulders and nodded with a courageous face.
“Okay,” he affirmed. “Let’s go and finish this. All of us.”
Vexin pushed the door release and the glass panels started to retract into the walls. The mechanics whirred and brighter light flooded into our little foyer. It tore through the din and glinted on our shin plates. Bollis turned to face our next obstacle head on. He was leading us again, despite his injury.
The Global Conference Station. Designed like an amphitheater, the Station was a massive circular room with five tiers supporting sleek desks and chairs. Numerous stair paths were cut out of the desks, directing people to the epicenter. We stepped out onto the fifth and highest level, looking upon the center of the room. Floating above a pedestal, a gigantic hologram of the letter “G” rotated slowly.
The room was empty. Not a sign of GenoTec metal-h
eads. Only the gentle hum of technology fought for dominance against our echoing footsteps. Twelve feet above us, a second level, covered by dark windows, rimmed the room. As I scanned the arena, something whizzed past me.
There was a soft clank of metal, followed by a low groan.
Bollis fell to his knees, cupping his sternum. He emitted a soft gurgling noise and slumped over.
Dodge and Tara rushed to the floor, while Vexin and I spun around in circles, trying to find the origin of the bullet.
Dodge cradled Bollis’ head within his arms. “Hang in there!”
Bollis raised a hand, stopping Dodge from trying to move. “ . . . Curtis.”
There was no sign of any shooter, which made me very nervous. Hopeless and shaken, Vexin and I crowded around our fallen leader. When I saw the bullet hole, a corrupting power seized my throat. The bottom of my stomach fell out.
Bollis coughed, yet retained his brazen attitude. “I am honored to die next to all of you.”
The ex-Marine sputtered blood. Tara grasped his hand and Vexin sighed. Dodge wasn’t crying, but there was a certain soberness that permeated his soul.
“We’re going to fix this,” began Dodge.
Bollis smiled. “Always the optimist.”
“And you’re always the damned realist.”
“You . . . you have to finish this. You have to undo what Slate has done.”
“Damn it, Ryan.”
“You p-promise me,” Bollis continued. “You’ve got to promise me. End this. Bring peace back to the world. Find the cure. Stop Slate.” Bollis lifted his hand to touch Dodge’s face, but his fingertips only grazed the edge. Bollis’ arm fell limp and he used the last ounces of his life to inhale. “Finish this.”
Then Bollis slipped away, leaving the forsaken world behind.
63
Dodge gently laid his best friend’s head onto the glossy floor. His mouth was dry. His breaths were short. No one else made a sound. We were all trying to accept the fact that our leader—our friend—was gone. Bollis was dead. A piece of me was missing. Ripped and gone forever.
Behind us, something made a whipping beep.
“We keep finding ourselves so close, yet untouchable.”
I swiveled around to find a holographic image of Slate replacing the giant “G.” He had changed into a sleeveless chest-plate, adorned with tactical pouches. His pants looked like those of an Undersuit, with little differences. Each of us stood, brandishing our weapons.
Dodge snatched Bollis’ ELBR and pushed his way into the front. He opened fire upon the image of Slate. The bullets soared through the technology field and hit the back wall. He turned to the pedestal and continued blasting everything with an unmatched fury. The advanced technology was unscathed.
Slate wore a stoic face. “What a waste.”
Dodge exploded. “Why haven’t you killed us yet?!”
Slate paced to the right. “There’s one more thing I have left to show you.”
“Then come out and get us! Quit hiding! Or is that all you can do?”
“If you keep letting us live, we’re eventually going to kill you,” I said, stepping down two tiers.
“Is that so?” Slate laughed. “Well then, I accept your challenge! As far as I’m concerned, it’s already two to zero.”
Thankfully, Dodge was too infuriated to understand the reference.
Slate’s dark eyes were in perfect resolution. I could see the emptiness within. He had no soul. He was a black hole, a husk without substance.
Dodge cursed and shook his head. “Why did you kill him?!”
Slate looked down upon the four of us with utter dominance. “To even the playing field, of course.”
Even the playing field? What was he talking about?
“No. We’re done playing games.” Dodge stormed around the pedestal and ramped up the opposite set of stairs.
“My house,” said Slate, “my rules.”
The door in front of Dodge locked down; the glass was impenetrable. By now, Dodge was starting to become manic. He stretched out his arms and laughed. “Then let’s get on with it! If you can’t come fight us yourself, then we’ll handle the ones braver than you.”
Slate chuckled. “I want to introduce somebody to you. You might have heard of him.”
Dodge began to walk back to the center, joining us in our search for what was coming next. Slate stood still, floating above the dais.
Then, from the upper left corner, sprinting could be heard. The four of us aimed and followed the tromping boots as they neared our side of the amphitheater. Without warning, the glass broke and a blurry, shimmering black object was expelled from the second level.
The mysterious thing slammed into the floor in a kneeling position. Once the glass stopped sprinkling, the mysterious soldier stood proudly, chest protruding underneath heavy armor.
This one was different than the average metal-head. His helmet was super-conformed to his head, sprouting three symmetrical horns, curving off of his skull a few inches. The visor wasn’t really a visor at all, but a two-inch thick ring of reflective glass. His face looked like a bull’s-eye. The armor plating was similar to our Oversuits, but tweaked in different ways. A spike here, a glowing red armament there. Magnetically attached to his back was a slender rifle, bulky at the butt, precise and sequined with technology at the front.
“Where are your manners?” Slate said to the new metal-head. “Say hello, Gear.”
My mind pricked. Gear?
Vexin stepped forward. “What the hell is this?”
The unknown metal-head removed his helmet. Sure enough, the trim nose, curly black hair, and stern attitude gave it away. I was staring into the fabled, pale face of Gear, the ex-Genesis member.
Slate held his hand out to Gear. “Meet your successor,” he said. “The perfect soldier!”
I tightened my grip on my rifle. Tara’s presence brushed up against me.
“Mark,” she whispered, “we’re not alone.”
Confused, I turned my attention to the other three entrances of the room. Metal-heads stalked the rows and paths between the desks and chairs. By now, the others had caught on. Dodge looted Bollis body for ammunition, leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves on low reserves. Things were about to get ugly.
“It’s really a shame,” started Slate, “Gear hardly accomplished anything when he defected to GenoTec all those years ago. I don’t have to remind you that I owned both sides.”
“What did you do to him?” Tara asked, noticing Gear’s android-like movements and lifeless gaze.
“The same thing I should have done to all of you.”
Gear donned his helmet and the visor was electrified in neon red lights, shooting throughout his skull to the tips of the horns.
“You created him,” said Slate. “Everything you did as soldiers pooled into this project—Genesis. Except in my Genesis, God did not create a man. Man created a god.”
Our doppelganger withdrew his rifle and prepared for battle.
Slate stepped out of frame so only his voice could be heard. “You know what to do.”
The carnage commenced. Tara and I lunged backwards, falling behind different trenches between desks. The discharge of ammunition filled the air like a roaring airplane engine. Tara and I were on different tiers, but we could see each other through a small opening at the base of the desk’s wall. We crawled to the end of the row and fired upon approaching GenoTec soldiers.
In the backdrop, I heard Vexin’s shotgun blaring persistently. Dodge had scurried over to the other end of the amphitheater, taking a stand against four oncoming Volunteers. Gear was nowhere to be found, but a weird, high-powered assault rifle could be heard amongst the thrall, and I knew it belonged to him.
Tara and I crouched on the staircase, taking cover behind the edge of the desks. Bullets pelted our location, but it was nothing to worry about. I explained to Tara that we needed to grab more ammo from the fallen soldiers, so we sprinted out of cover, cir
cling around to the other side of the Station.
At that moment, the metal-splitting sound of Gear’s rifle pummeled our area. One of his rounds glanced off of my back plate and sent me into the ground. I couldn’t breathe. The bullet had knocked the wind out of me. I lay there gasping, while Tara remained oblivious. She kept running and found the fallen Volunteers.
I rolled onto my back, grimacing in extreme pain. The heat of my bruise spread throughout my spine and my eyes watered. Was I hit? Where was the blood?
While I was gazing at the ceiling, my eyes squinted at one of the corners, seeing something mechanical come to life. Then at once my strength returned. I was staring into an auto-turret, ready to unleash hell upon my position.
Like a dying crab, I shuffled backwards, fearing it was too late.
But the turret turned toward Gear’s position and began to fire. Gear ceased his attack and I realized there were four turrets altogether, one in each corner. And I was certain that an eleven-year-old boy was commandeering them all.
With the coast clear, I shot back up just in time for Tara to bring me a few magazines.
“That kid knows his way around!” I yelled.
“Now are you happy I made you bring him along?”
We retraced our steps, helping Vexin with some more soldiers. Justin’s turrets fired upon the rest of the hardly-trained Volunteers, making short work of any extra resistance. After watching my bullet burst my final target’s helmet open, I caught a glimpse of a black mirage. It was Gear, weaving in and out of turret fire. I followed him with my sights, trying to get a shot off, but he was too fast and unnaturally flexible. He dashed over a desk, slid across another, maneuvering through the batch of corporate stations like a sea serpent.
Finally, he hurled something up at the turret located closest to him. The small spider-sized device shot at the turret like an arrow and stuck to the nearby corner. A second later, the tiny sticky-bomb detonated, leaving the turret crippled.
Tara and I ducked out of his next attack as it swept the area, splintering the metal desks one tier behind us.
