by B. C. Tweedt
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Avery tried to ignore the security guards that followed them. Maybe it was standard procedure, or maybe they were already suspicious. Even worse were the employees’ stares as they passed. Every stare made her question herself. Are they on to me? Are they just waiting to see what I try to do before killing me? Are they all on the side of the terrorists?
But she had to convince herself that they were only unaccustomed to seeing children in their sterile, white halls with bright blue carpet. The colors made her feel as if she were soaring the clouds. It also made her feel as if she were about to come crashing down to her death.
[Now, don’t worry,] Murray said, instantly making her worry. [We got you covered on this.]
On what?
Veranda stopped next to a wide door on her left. In big red letters, it said “Clearance Alpha Only.”
“That ends our tour of the civilian wing. This now, is our production wing. Your father had his office built on the top floor, overlooking the assembly. As far as I know, he’s only been to it one time. So if you’re interested in seeing where he works, it might not be worth the…”
“Oh, no. If he had it built the’ah, I want to see why.”
Veranda shrugged with an arch of her dark, manicured brow. “Of course. Forgive us for the security protocols. They can be somewhat…intense.”
Avery returned the shrug. “My fath’ah wouldn’t have it any oth’ah way.”
The woman’s lips curled into a smile; then she turned to Jarryd. “Just do as they say and you’ll be fine.”
“Who’s they?” Jarryd asked.
Veranda smirked, her hands held in front of her. “The drones.” With that, she pushed her palm on the security pad, smiled for the security camera, and opened the door.
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Ankeny stood in the corner, silent and stoic. She preferred to watch and listen whenever possible – especially when there was so much to learn. The way the soldiers operated was fascinating. The power they had through their computers was extraordinary. One tour bus with an array of satellites was feeding the entire circus tent of analysts with information from all over the country. Monitors formed a perimeter on the outside and a large table rose in the center for those in charge to coordinate. Each monitor was active, with video feed or code. She tried to make sense of them from afar, but there was a limit to her vision.
She waited for an opportune time – then slinked forward. They weren’t too concerned about security it seemed, but she didn’t want to push it. But from her new perch leaning on an empty supply crate, she saw that most of the feeds were from soldiers’ helmet cams inside of helicopters. Their locations were in type above the feed, but she could only read the closest ones.
One monitor had strings of code. A cord connected the monitor to a drone’s hard drive – probably the one they had stolen from the malfunctioning drone. That would be the computer to bring the fleet down – if that girl Avery came through in time. The soldiers watching Avery’s sunglasses feed were getting nervous. They kept glancing at the digital clocks counting down from twenty minutes – the time until the first swarm would come within range of Dallas’ downtown district. Only minutes later, the other swarms would all come within striking distance of the other seven cities.
Finally, there was one feed that wasn’t inside a helicopter anymore. It was jerking up and down, as if the soldier were running. There were cars and civilians in a suburb of sorts.
Intrigued, Ankeny moved close enough to see the text. As soon as she read it, she looked away, wrestling with the fact. Orphan. The callsign the soldiers used for Greyson. There had been a flurry of commotion a while back, but she had been too far to hear what it was about. Perhaps his heli had been shot down.
The others would want to know. Especially that one girl – Sydney – that he had run off to rescue. It would be the right thing to do – let her see him one last time.
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Orion tapped his earpiece and listened. The more he heard, the more the smile spread toward the sides of his face.
Greyson. Spotted in Dallas. Fate was indeed a friend.
He gave his men the ready signal and strode toward the helicopter. “Feed me his last location.”
As the information came in, he eyed his men. A pilot, co-pilot, and four soldiers – if you could call them that. Besides Buzz, these were the men Pluribus could spare. Rejects. Those they couldn’t trust to be drone operators. One of the recent additions, a mulleted boy that had survived the FEMA attack, had just flown in. Pluribus had access to the most hardened terrorists and paramilitary groups in the world, and they’d sent him a backwoods boy with a mullet. Sure, they’d performed a few missions on the same Wolf team, but combat was different. He hadn’t been all over the world like he had, seen the criminal underworld like he had, or been trained from youth like he had.
But could he blame the Plurbs? This pet project was not exactly on their priority list at the moment. If it weren’t for his father, they wouldn’t have even considered giving him the mission.
Either way, the conclusion remained. He’d need to do this himself.
Before he stepped into the helicopter, he stopped by a weapons crate and reached inside. A grin stretched across his lips. It was a bit excessive, he had to admit, but it seemed to fit the amount of revenge that Greyson deserved. The boy was resilient, strong. But not this resilient. Not this strong.
He aimed down the grenade launcher’s sights, twisting its circular magazine and adjusting the distance. Though he loved the feel of it in his hands, there was something missing. Surveying the crate again, he knew exactly what to do.
Chapter 73
A matte of white snow began to fall like cotton from a sifter. It fell on suitcases piled on cars, it melted as it touched the roofs of Humvees, and it moistened the asphalt under Greyson’s feet as he pounded ahead, weaving through the suburban traffic at breakneck speed.
As his heart rate settled into rhythm with his breaths, he found his zone – the zone he had felt on his runs around camp. The zone where he hardly heard a thing besides the thumping of his feet and the huffs of his lungs.
But it was impossible to ignore what was going on around him. Fathers trying to rally their little children to their cars, pulling them from the enjoyment of rare Texas snow; families hauling suitcases outside only to see the traffic and hear the blaring horns. Impatient cars panicking and crashing through yards and mailboxes. A military jeep with a loudspeaker barking out the evacuation order and locations.
It was unreal, but he was in the middle of it, sprinting through yards, sticking to the map in his HUD that had routed him through neighborhoods, parks, and highways. The suburbs ended in just another block, where a multi-lane highway with knotted overpasses stood as a barrier between suburb and city.
[Twenty-five minutes,] Diablo said in his ear. [I hitched a ride.]
Greyson watched Diablo’s locator on his mini-map. There it was, racing down the highway. Must have gotten a military vehicle if it was able to travel that fast.
He wanted to gripe about having to run when Diablo could hijack a vehicle, but he had agreed to the strategy. With his burns, Diablo couldn’t run near as fast and needed a ride. But finding a ride had been uncertain. Since Greyson could leave nothing up to chance, he needed to run. Besides, running two miles on rough terrain in twenty-five minutes was doable. He’d been trained for this.
“This is crazy,” he said between breaths, weaving through the last of the traffic, leaving behind the desperate families. His eyes latched instead on the looming skyline and the skyscraper he would ascend. Beyond the falling snow was the eastern horizon, where the sun had hid behind clouds, casting a pale, gloomy gray across the landscape.
Somewhere, beyond the clouds, was the army of drones. He was racing them to the city.
[Any word on Avery?]
[Not ye
t.]
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Avery held Jarryd’s hand as they stepped through the vacant hall, cautious with every step. This wasn’t like any hall they’d ever been in. Big enough for a truck to go through. Tinted glass on all sides, even the floor. Cameras and sensors hanging above. And three drones hovered near the end, still as statues, their weapons trained on them as they approached.
Veranda clicked along the glass with her high heels. “Your father is mostly cautious about his own workers smuggling intellectual property out – not as much about someone smuggling something in. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“What’s behind the glass?” Avery asked, worried about what could be underneath, looking up.
“Sensors. Computers. Face-recognition. That kind of thing.”
[Both of your earpieces aren’t metal and shouldn’t be detected. Even if they take your glasses, we’ll hear you loud and clear and will help you through.]
They approached the drones.
“Please, stop,” the drone said.
It’s Australian! Wall-a-by!
“Great. Another bossy Aussie,” Jarryd quipped.
Avery stifled a laugh. “G-day,” she greeted the bot, happy to hear a voice like hers.
“G-day,” it replied, with just a twinge of robotic to make it unnatural. “Empty all pockets. Remove all object and accessories.” A tray jutted from each side of the tunnel.
She did as the drone said, putting her sunglasses, lip gloss, and everything else in her tray. When she finished, the trays disappeared inside the walls.
“Do not move.”
The wall spun around them, two circular beams sending colored rays over their bodies with a deep hum.
Veranda whispered, “Frying all electronics.”
Beep!
[Don’t worry. Still here.]
“Place fore’ahm in sleeve.”
Two plastic tubes emerged where the trays had been. Jarryd put his forearm inside one and she followed suit. There was a snap and then the tube retreated. It had left wristbands tight around their wrists.
“Tracker,” Veranda said. “Also a failsafe if an employee or visitor is unruly. Disables them.”
“Oh.”
[That’s new.]
Just great. Love to hear that.
Beep!
The triad of drones lowered to eye-level. “What a’h you’ah names? What brings you he’ah today?”
[It’s searching for deception. Tell the truth!]
“I’m Avery Redmond. I’m he’ah for a tou’ah.”
[We’ve erased Jarryd’s past and replaced with new. Avery, we’ve just replaced the events following the cruise.]
The three drones turned to Jarryd. “And you?”
“I’m Jarryd Aldeman. I’m here cuz a beautiful girl asked me to come.”
Beep! “Welcome to Redmond. Just two more questions.” The trio of drones turned to Avery. “Do you have oth’ah motives besides a tou’ah?”
Avery shrugged, not thinking about the hack. “To learn more about my fath’ah and his business.”
They asked the same of Jarryd.
“Yes,” he answered.
Veranda raised her brow as Avery gave a nervous laugh.
“Explain,” commanded the drone.
“I’d like to get to know the employees better, if you know what I mean.”
Avery elbowed him, the pointy end right in his side. As he rubbed his new bruise, he winked at Veranda.
Beep!
Relieved by the beep, Avery almost laughed. Guess they figured he can’t possibly be a threat.
The trio turned to Avery. “Forgive us. Last question.”
Avery cocked her head. Ready.
“What is the name of your homeroom teach’ah?”
She froze. Her heart skipped a beat.
[Hold on! Stall them!]
The drone’s sensors gleamed, showing no mercy, staring in her desperate eyes. She stammered. “Uh…”
Jarryd grabbed her arm. “Babe, isn’t it that one guy who picks his nose with the protractor? Or is it the lady with armpit hair? Not sure what the bossy Aussie means by ‘homeroom’. Maybe the room where you feel most at home? That’d be the bathroom for me. Mr. John is my teacher. Say, does the water twirl counter-clockwise in Australia? Someone told me that once, but I didn’t believe it.”
URN!
The drones swiveled to Jarryd, weapons lowered, red lights flashing around their perimeter. Jarryd jumped back to Veranda and she wrapped him in her arms.
The lead drone blared. “It is not y’uah turn, Jarryd.”
Veranda looked at the glass wall. “They’re just children. Is this necessary?”
The drones did not relent.
“Sorry,” Jarryd whimpered, closing his eyes.
[Found it! Mr. Baker!]
“Oh, I bet you mean Mr. Bak’ah,” Avery said, stepping up to the drone, defiant. “Mr. Bak’ah.”
The drones retreated, their lights shutting off as they swiveled to Jarryd. Veranda still held him.
“Jarryd,” the drone began, giving no pause.
He gulped.
Avery held back her panic. He would know nothing of his past. And a wrong guess would end their escapade – and maybe their lives. But there was nothing she could do.
“What is your broth’uh’s middle name?”
[You don’t have a brother.]
After a brief pause and a twitch of his brow, he answered, “I don’t have a brother.”
Beep!
The drones parted, hovering at the sides of the hall. “Welcome to Redmond.”
[You did it!]
Avery gave Jarryd a sideways glance, making sure he was okay. The question had been a tough one. But Jarryd showed no signs that it had affected him, turning to joke with Veranda. “Do the drones know something I don’t? Do I have a long-lost brother, separated at birth?”
The woman laughed as the vault-like door opened on the opposite end. “No, no. They try to trip you up. Make you nervous.”
“That’s doomed from the start. I don’t get nervous,” Jarryd said with a chin pump. “Ever played the ‘Are You Nervous?’ game? I never lose.”
“No,” Veranda said with a curious smirk. “How do you play?”
“Well, you…”
“Jarryd,” Avery scolded.
Jarryd shrugged. “Sorry.”
Then Avery straightened, a little ashamed of herself for scolding him. She was jealous. Actually jealous. Why? Was it because he had saved her with his quick wit just as he’d saved her on the slope? Was it his ever-present, half-annoying loyalty despite her rebuffs?
He kept surprising her.
She gave him a hard look, trying to talk herself out of thinking what she was thinking.
The pair came to the end of the hall and entered the elevator. Veranda hit the button for the top floor. “Once on the mezzanine, you’ll be able to see three drone production lines. The Reaper, the Predator, and the QR-350 – commonly known as a Quad.”
Avery acted bored, though it was news to her. And she couldn’t let on that she knew drones were preparing to attack cities all across the country as they spoke. “That’ll be interesting.” Then she began to think about it more, staring at the elevator doors. Were all drones under Plurb control? Even the ones in the plant? Would they be walking into another potential war zone with berzerking drones?
“I’m sure you’ve seen similar things at other plants,” Veranda said. “Personally, I’d like to see the satellite construction at Houston.”
The elevator hummed upwards.
[We have fifteen minutes. Cut the tour short. Find the office.]
“Yeah…” Avery said, both to Veranda and Murray at once. She itched at her dress, readying herself to run. Her nerves were rattled. Usually she was like steel. Riding waves. Snowboarding. Flirting. Whatever thrill confronted her, she was coo
l and collected. But now, she began feeling the pressure. There were dozens of people relying on her – and thousands more without even knowing it. Lives were in her hands. Her hands! No one else’s! What if she failed?
Jarryd’s gloved hand slipped into hers. He squeezed, speaking a silent affirmation with each finger. I’m here. I’m with you.
She smiled and squeezed back, taking a deep breath. Maybe it was the hormones from the glove, or maybe not, but she felt his confidence seep through her pores. Her eyes brightened and her posture popped upright.
Let’s do this.
The doors slid open. Two armed guards blocked the way.
Chapter 74
Asher waded through the crowded cabin, stepping over limbs, sidestepping displaced bunk beds, and finding an open corner against the wall. He set his empty clipboard down and made his jacket into an adequate seat cushion. He dropped to it with a satisfied thud and a deep sigh. Gosh, he was tired. And hungry. Just now he realized. It had to be because he had decided it was time to rest.
The last of the transports from camp had arrived, and his task of gathering names, conditions, and locations had been completed. There was probably more good he could do, helping with the patients like Sydney was doing, but he’d been sent away to grab a few minutes rest to energize him for the next stretch.
For a minute he watched the residents of the cabin making beds, entertaining small children, and checking news updates on their smartphones. He didn’t want to know what was happening. He knew it was bad – and that was enough. His father was out there. Greyson. Jarryd. Avery. Rubicon. Almost everyone he knew and loved. If he thought too much about them, it hurt.
Finally surrendering, he closed his eyes. It couldn’t have been long before a girl sighed and sat next to him. When he saw her he had to blink hard to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Short, shiny brown hair. Golden brown eyes.
Chloe.
“Hi,” she said, stoic.
“Hi,” he said back, timid.
