by B. C. Tweedt
Her hands wrung in her lap for what seemed an eternity. “Gary said you found him. Helped him.”
Asher arched his brow. “Gary? Mana-Mana…?”
“Manaheim. My friend’s grandpa.”
“Oh.” He swallowed his nerves, picking at a splinter in the wooden floor.
“She’s with him now.”
He was too shy to look at her. And he didn’t know what to say. So he kept pulling at the splinter, twisting it until it snapped free.
“Thanks,” Chloe said, standing.
He nodded at her, still without words.
She nodded back. “See ya.”
When she had left, a smile had worked its way to his quiet lips.
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The wreckage smoldered in the business park as firefighters extinguished the flames from a distance. Military vehicles surrounded the downed craft, waiting for an opportunity to see who had infiltrated their perimeter. With four Humvees, a troop carrier, an Apache helicopter, and two fire engines, some argued that they had overreacted to one intrusion – especially when it appeared that there had been no survivors. It didn’t take long for the order to come, calling for most of them to return to their original duties.
But they never left.
From out of the falling snow, another helicopter descended like a black dove. Its side door was wide open, with one soldier standing on the landing rail, supported by a harness tied to his back. He leaned outward, a grenade launcher over each forearm, the stocks buried in his shoulders. The soldiers only had a moment to glance in his direction. The Apache pilots had the closest view, taking in his wicked smile before any helpless attempt to escape.
THOOMP!
The Apache ripped apart, blasting shrapnel in all directions before it sunk to the ground in a fiery thump. But it was only the beginning.
Orion let out a bellowing scream as he pumped the triggers.
THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP!
The grenades flew like tiny meteors, striking the Humvees in a line of fireballs, erupting in a string of flames and destruction.
THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP!
The lights of the explosions glowed in Orion’s screaming face as it took on a maniacal smile, in awe of the destruction done by his own hands.
THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP!
Bodies flung before they could retaliate, a Humvee flipped in the air, a troop carrier spilled men from its sides and rear.
THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP-THOOMP!
The Humvee landed with a metallic crunch as pieces of debris found their resting places in the grass or streets surrounding. Smoke rose in columns, like victory pillars stationed around the prized wreckage within. And Orion withdrew the triggers, allowing the smoking barrels to survey the deed. Behind him, his men began roping down searching for their target.
“Find his body!” he yelled.
He joined them on the ground, exchanging the launchers for a shotgun.
But they came up empty. Nothing but a charred shell.
Orion felt a dose of relief, gripping the handle of a machete in its holster as he took a step away from the wreckage.
“Footsteps,” he muttered, tracking the steps from the cockpit’s broken glass toward the street. Drops of blood accompanied the three tracks – the middle one dragging. Wounded.
He followed the tracks, his men trailing behind with weapons trained at all angles. For a motley crew of whatever men could be spared, they made quick time to the office building, cleared the area, and approached the aisle of cubicles. The footprints were heavy here and took a sharp turn into a cubicle ahead.
With a simple gesture, his men went silent, training their sights ahead. Two flanked to the right, another two to the left. Orion kept his line straight ahead, lowering his shotgun to his hip. His steps became measured, cautious.
In position, he gave the nod.
Buzz stepped up from behind him, approached the entrance, and swung around, gun leveled.
An explosion sent his body toppling through fragile walls.
Orion turned with a curse, the sound banging in his ears, the debris cascading off his back. Booby trap. The soldiers with Greyson were clever. Special ops.
And in a blink of an eye, they’d taken Buzz. He sneered, felt the hate gurgle with the smoke inside his metallic throat.
He almost dwelt on Buzz’s death, delaying his vengeance, but he suppressed the thought, refusing to check his body for vitals. What had happened was done. He couldn’t change it now; he could only increase his vengeance.
A moment later he was walking through the smoke, searching for another trail. Tracking the footsteps, he found where they diverged. Three different directions. Clever.
He set three of his men after the wounded tracks, keeping the mulleted boy with him. He pulled up his cell, making a call. “Get me drones on the ground in the city. Mile perimeter.”
He didn’t like the reply he received. “I don’t care what you have to pull them from. Just do it, now!”
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A military patrol downtown utilized four Quad drones – front, back, left, right. They were able to sniff out trouble well before their eyes above could, and they could neutralize threats faster than infantry could click off their safeties. They were an incredible asset – nearly indispensable.
But they were just as deadly an enemy as an ally.
As soon as they began their dance, the soldiers knew. They’d been briefed about the possibility and planned for it.
It had been a quick fix. Just an extra failsafe a sergeant had suggested, just in case the drones weren’t as secure as the Department of Defense assured they were. A bit of plastic explosive pressed to their underside, remote triggered. An emergency brake of sorts.
“Failsafe! Now!”
The drones turned their guns on the soldiers just before disintegrating into fragments of metal.
Three blocks down, four more drones began the dance in a patrol with a less prophetic sergeant. Their only defense was their rifles.
The battle erupted in the abandoned street, a firefight where there had been silence a second before.
At the battle’s end, two drones sped away.
-------------------------------
Ankeny returned to the tent in time to hear the news.
“Sir, four drones went down outside Texarkana.”
Grover looked over the man’s shoulder to his screen. “Who shot them down? General Overton?”
“No. The Air Force is still holding. Any time they get near, the drones attack and our guys withdraw. It appears the drones went down on their own.”
“What’s Avery’s status?”
“Not in the office yet,” Murray relayed.
“Then we have no idea what took them down.”
“The missiles directed toward the satellites were shot down as expected, and our nearest Rubicon unit is downed in Dallas. It wasn’t us.”
Grover snarled at the clock. Twelve minutes. “Foster’s going to let the cities burn rather than destroy his own Air Force. Unless Overton balls up.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Ankeny saw Sydney jogging up the path with Drake and the others in tow. They’d found her, told her what was happening.
“Avery still has a shot, sir,” Murray reported in her defense. “SmokeStack is ready with the assault.”
“Are the Rubicon teams in place?”
“Four are still within a mile of a swarm, sir, waiting on Avery. Two have reported threats from the Air Force. They aren’t letting them get close.”
Grover cursed for the whole tent to hear. After a short fit with himself, he looked at the clock and turned stoic. “We’ve waited long enough,” he muttered, grabbing a headset from one of the men. “Put me through to CENT-COM.”
Murray turned in his seat, worried. “If the Plurb moles get word of what we’re doing, they’ll
secure Redmond. Avery and Jarryd would be…”
“I’m well aware. But if we don’t, the Air Force will shoot down every one of our teams. Just get her in and get her in now!”
“On it, sir.” Murray gulped, pressing his earphones to his ears.
-------------------------------
The Redmond Security guards stood before them, rifles in their hands. Jarryd almost put his shoulder down, ramming into them to give Avery room to escape, but the one in front with a soul patch spoke monotone before he had the chance. “Clearance?”
Veranda stepped forward, showing them the ID around her neck. “Bluebird ninety-three today, I believe.”
SoulPatch scanned her ID wristband with a handheld device and then backed away, giving the kids a skeptical glare. Jarryd waved a thank you in return as Veranda led them off the elevator. “Looks like we get an escort today. Probably nothing to worry about.”
Yeah, right, Jarryd thought.
“Follow me this way to Assembly.”
They stepped to the balcony overlooking the production lines, gawking at the magnificent operation. It was enormous – bigger than several football fields. Huge machines, networks of conveyor belts, and a small army of blue-suited men collided inside, appearing tiny below the arching rafters. Engines, electronics, wings, and other parts were assembled below, step by step, until, at the far end, entire drones wheeled onto a runway.
“Holy geez,” Jarryd exclaimed.
“Impressive,” Avery said, “But I’ve seen similar. Would you mind if I see my fath’ah’s office now?”
Veranda turned from the balcony and her hands clasped together as she thought to herself. “I don’t see why not.”
When they returned to the open hall, Jarryd saw their objective. Past a narrow receptionist desk was an office door meant for a king. A dark, almost purple wood, nine-feet high at least, with long bars for handles. He didn’t need the nameplate to guess the office’s owner.
Veranda passed them, stopping at the receptionist desk. “This is Miss Avery Redmond. She would like to see inside her father’s office.”
The receptionist looked up from her magazine, startled. She spoke as she tried to hide the magazine under a notepad. “Miss Redmond? His daughter?”
“Yes, the one and only.”
Avery bypassed the receptionist and pulled at the handles, bouncing on her toes. “I’m excited,” she whispered as an excuse.
“Well,” the receptionist said, retreating into herself, still trying to hide the magazine. “I’m afraid that I can’t…” she stopped, seeing Jarryd lunging his gloved hand toward her.
“I’m Jarryd. Mr. Redmond’s future son-in-law.”
The receptionist smiled. “Is that so? I like your gloves. Michael Jackson fan?”
Jarryd blinked, still shaking her hand. “Huge. Huge fan.”
“Me, too.”
“That’s fantastic. And just between us,” he began, leaning close, “So is Mr. Redmond.” He finally released his grip. “I bet he has a poster in there.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Oh, you’ve been inside?”
The receptionist nodded.
“Wouldn’t hurt if I had a little peak, would it?”
He gave her his trademark chin pump, and it was over.
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Greyson pressed his back to the brick wall, sucking in deep breaths amongst the snowflakes. He’d made great time, but he was near exhausted. Just a few more blocks.
The area was under military control, but with his HUD’s assistance, avoiding them hadn’t been hard. Once he would make it to the building it would be just a quick elevator ride to the top.
Then the hard part.
He shook away the thought. It wouldn’t help to think about it.
[You stopped.]
Greyson scoffed. He knew the soldier was concerned. Not so much because he cared about the boy – moreso because he cared about the mission. “Just a breather.”
[No time.]
Rolling his eyes as he rolled around the building’s corner, he pushed to a sprinting start, only to dig his sneakers into slick cement. Two Quads were buzzing along the street, two stories up.
“Frick!”
He pulled his gaiter over his face and turned, but it was useless. When he glanced back, he knew. Their trajectory changed and so did his.
Their bullets blew brick chunks at him just after he retreated around the corner, sprinting in the other direction. “Diablo! I’ve been spotted!”
[I’m a minute out.]
“I don’t have a minute!”
He scanned the empty block. There were a few abandoned cars that would have to do. Unsheathing his slingshot, he slid behind the first one and took up aim, heart pounding.
When the first zipped around the corner, his PulseyCat hit it in the side, sending a sizzling charge raging through its electronics. It dropped like a rock, but the other swung around, firing with abandon.
Greyson ducked, wincing with the grating sound of bullets on metal. Peeking through the window, he loaded another ball, daring himself to rise for another shot.
But the drone’s bullets kept his head down. They broke the windows, buried themselves inside the seats as the drone swiveled to get a better angle. Greyson crawled to keep the car between them, frantic now, slipping, dropping the ball; it rolled into the sewer. He knew he was out-gunned, out-positioned. Moments from death.
Panic assaulted him, but he fought it off, catching a glimpse of the drone in the car’s rear view mirror, circling behind him. The bullets hit the pavement behind his feet as he dove to the car’s rear. The drone buzzed higher. He knew it would win. He had one chance.
His fingers fished for the ball in its pouch. His fingers were wet, the ball smooth and slippery. The drone was rising above. He’d be in its view any moment. With a gasp, he rolled to his back, raised his slingshot toward the sky, and snapped the ball through the falling snow.
Chapter 75
Greyson groaned in pain, pushing at the drone that had collapsed on him. Its heavy bulk pressed against his chest, its gun dangerously close to his crotch.
“Ugh!”
He pushed at it, but it was unbelievably heavy. And hot. Its circuits had overheated with the electromagnetic surge, and a thick line of smoke emerged from seams in its armor. He turned his face from the heat, grimacing.
[This is Forge. Liam spotted a Plurb unit tracking me, but they were called off to your direction. Looks like you’re their target. I’ve sent Liam for support. No ammo, but he’ll find targets.]
Liam. He was alive.
It took all his strength to give himself an inch to shimmy to his right, but the drone came back down on his left shoulder. He let out an embarrassing yelp and gritted his teeth.
Diablo’s voice came over the comm. [Two more drones approaching your position. Stay down.]
“No problem,” he muttered, seeing the dots appear on the map.
He craned his neck back to the asphalt, straining to look behind. Sure enough, two more drones were heading his way. They were only a block away.
He tried to shimmy free, gaining another inch.
The dots blinked closer. Half a block now.
Finally, all his weight lifting came to use. With one last press, he pushed free and rolled under the car.
P-CHINK! P-CHINK!
The drones crashed hard, one on the car’s trunk, the other in the street. Their rotors spun their last, their lights blinking into slow death. From underneath the car, Greyson could see the bullet hole where Diablo’s bullet had taken one out. A clean shot through its armor. Size of an apple.
If his bullets could do that to an armored drone, what would it do to flesh?
Refusing to think of it, Greyson slid from the undercarriage, peering down the block to Diablo’s position. The soldier’s figure was dressed in Army camo.
[Fifteen minutes. I’ll tak
e up cover in the building to the east.]
“They were after me. It’s the Plurbs.”
[Yes.]
“Then I’m using the trucking tunnels. I’ll stay out of sight. Meet you there!”
[Roger.]
Greyson was tempted to congratulate himself on the idea, but the urgency overwhelmed him. He swiped up the silver suitcase and ran off.
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Avery surveyed her father’s gigantic office, getting lost in the various trinkets, books, globes, and pictures that filled the space. Veranda clicked the door shut behind them, leaving Jarryd with the guards and receptionist.
[He has an access terminal in there somewhere. A laptop or monitor. Find it. Ten minutes.]
Avery eyed his desk. Empty. Where else would it be?
“Does he have a comput’ah in he’ah?” she asked Veranda.
The woman shrugged. “You’d think he would, but I don’t see one. You find yourself in any of the pictures?”
Avery swept the exterior of the room, glancing at the pictures and searching for anything that appeared to be a computer. “Not yet.” She made her way to the desk and plopped in his desk chair.
“Miss Avery, I don’t think that you…”
“What? If he was he’ah, he’d let me.”
“But he’s not.”
Ignoring her, she pulled at the drawers, but they were all locked. Where is it?
“I just want to feel what it’s like. I might take ov’ah for him someday, you know?” She picked up his decorative pen, looked under a pencil sharpener, moved a picture of their family, taking a second glance at it, though. She held back a rush of emotion.
“You may. I think we’ve spent enough time in here,” Veranda said, beginning to get annoyed. “Want to see the rest of your future company?”
“In a minute,” she said, ignoring the lady.
It has to be here!
Then she took a double-take at the pencil sharpener.
She looked again; he had no pencils.
With a deep sigh, she pushed her finger toward the hole in front.
