by B. C. Tweedt
“Greyssson.”
Chapter 79
A bolt of fear ran down Greyson’s spine and he jerked his slingshot up.
“Don’t!” Orion bellowed.
He stopped his aim halfway up, staring down Orion’s barrels.
“Throw it down!” Orion said in his steely, wispy croak, loud enough to pierce the helicopter’s whipping blades.
Greyson gave a long, hard look at the boy – his collared tactical vest, the muscles beneath it, and the black, metal snake running from underneath his chin to someplace beneath the collar. He had a twisted sneer, just as crooked as his nose. Convinced that Orion would indeed kill him, he dropped the slingshot and raised his hands, listening to the voices shouting in his ear. They were screaming warnings about the drones.
[They’re firing!]
He glanced at the distant swarm. Red dots flashed by each one. Missile launches.
“You came back here, of all places,” Orion said. “You have a death wish?”
“Not for me…” Greyson declared.
After a sneer, Orion laughed it off. “It’s fate!” Orion shouted gleefully. “It’s been patient. I’ve been patient. But you never came after him.”
“Why would I? He’s a traitor!”
Orion laughed, his demented gurgled laugh. “Yes-sss. But tyranny’s traitors are liberty’s patriots. Heroes-sss.”
Greyson saw the trails of smoke extending from the swarm – the tiny missiles inbound. “Avery…?” he muttered.
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“Almost…” Avery pounded the keys as Jarryd leaned over her.
[And connect!]
Avery clicked to connect and watched the scroll of code race across her screen. Jarryd’s head moved with the text, trying to read it. “Is that it? Did it work?”
[Yes! I have control,] Murphy reported. [Networking with the satellites now. I’ll have the firewall down soon. Just a sec.]
An explosion blasted outside the room. The ceiling shook, the lights flickered, and Jarryd raised the gun toward the blast door. Smoke was filling in, but the door had held. Then the bullets rained on surrounding walls, making the gaps bigger.
BANGBANGBANGBANG!
“We don’t have a sec here!”
[SmokeStack is on his way. Hang on.]
Avery pushed the office chair away and knelt under the desk, but Jarryd propped his elbows on the desk, aiming down the rifle’s sights. When the bullets stopped, he whispered. “It’ll be okay, Ave.”
He reached out and patted her hand with his gloved hand.
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Diablo blasted the lock, kicked through the door, and hobbled onto the roof of the skyscraper adjacent Orphan’s. Glancing to the east, he saw the missiles streaking in, the massive swarm close behind. Then looking upward, he saw the helicopter some thirty stories up. He cursed, shook his head at the shot’s difficulty, and lay down on his throbbing, burnt back.
“Getting into position for a shot, Orphan,” he said, wincing. “Keep him busy.”
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Greyson heard Diablo loud and clear. “America is not a tyranny! You’re trying to make her one!” he shouted at Orion.
“We’re showing the world what she really is. We just poked the bear that was stalking you. And soon enough, we’ll kill it. You’ll see.” He turned to the east and came back with a smile. “Or maybe you won’t.”
Greyson froze as he watched the array of missiles speeding toward the first layer of skyscrapers beyond. It was a surreal image. Haunting. Silent. And then, when the streaks disappeared into the buildings with a flash, the horror became real. The shockwaves blew out glass from the buildings’ other sides, the whole block shook, the explosions thunderous, rocking the air. There were four, six, ten explosions before he turned back to Orion.
“Looks like it’s time to cut this short,” Orion smiled.
“Tell my dad something for me,” Greyson demanded, his nostrils flaring.
Orion paused, tapping his fingers against the triggers. “What?”
“Tell him I still love him.”
It was a choice. A commitment. It hurt to say it, but he was glad when he did. And deep down, he hoped that Orion would oblige.
But Orion laughed as more explosions thudded in the distance. A building began to crumble. Greyson glanced at the spectacle – an entire skyscraper twisting, turning on its side as its floors collapsed on each other in spurts of rubble and dust. The noise was incredible.
“I would,” Orion said, leveling the barrels at him. “But he doesn’t know who you are.”
As the words struck Greyson dumb, Diablo’s bullet struck the pilot. Greyson saw the impact in the pilot’s body. He saw the pilot slump against the yoke. And Greyson dove away just in time.
The helicopter jerked backward, Orion fired the launchers, hitting the roof’s communication tower with a fiery blast. Greyson covered his head and pressed against the roof, the helicopter veering away as another wave of missiles thudded into the next layer of skyscrapers.
This time they were close. The roof shook under his body and he could hear the drones’ roaring buzz.
[Got it! The window is open! Get that uplink!]
Greyson shot to his feet. The helicopter circled back, revealing Orion clutching handles inside as it banked hard, flying toward him, its blades like giant knives chopping through falling snow.
Back on his stomach with a UMPH, the blades chopped over him, the roar of the heli’s engine blasting his ears as it passed over. He held his breath, hoping it would miss – and it did, zipping over, into open space as the first drones began to pass.
Safe. It was gone.
Sucking in air, he rose again, holstering his slingshot and assessing the path off the building. Drones were buzzing by on both sides and above – the first of hundreds to follow. He would need one below, on the north side. Target triangles blinked on each drone as it passed.
No. No. No. That one!
He found one zooming below a falling skyscraper, on a perfect path.
He followed it through the air until it was out of sight. He had to time it just right. Lined paths appeared in his HUD as if they floated in the sky, giving him a trajectory.
Okay. You can do this.
When the time was right, Greyson bolted to the side, making a run for it. But something flashed to his right. It was Orion barreling toward him, intercepting him with a rolling tackle. Their bodies skidded on the cement and each boy jostled for control. Greyson screamed out, latching onto Orion’s collar, swinging his elbows. They traded blows and a jarring fist knocked his goggles loose. The voices still blasted near his ears.
[They’re trying to raise the firewall!]
Orion’s fist knocked it again, breaking one of the earpieces off.
[Four minutes! It closes in…]
He heard Avery scream on the other end as another of Orion’s blows struck the goggles off his face.
The fight had only lasted a few moments, and he’d already lost. The roof twisted around him like a merry-go-round and darkness nipped by his temples. He felt Orion pulling his body toward the ledge.
“You’re pathetic.”
Orion turned Greyson around, bending him backward over the ledge, sending his hat tumbling toward the street below. He was cocking his head at Greyson’s face. A mixture of hatred and curiosity bent his lips.
But something distracted him. More explosions racked the air. His gaze jerked to the side and he seemed mesmerized by something happening in the swarm. Screaming jets had joined the battle with guns and missiles, disintegrating drones in droves. Anti-aircraft ordinance filled the sky around the city, tracer fire and streaking missiles making the airspace busy with color and violence.
It was his chance. He smacked Orion’s grasp away and connected with a swift punch to Orion’s gut. Rising, his knee connected with Orion’s jaw in a metallic th
ud that sent rivers of pain through his leg.
Orion stumbled back, blinking hard and chewing air to feel out his jaw. Greyson took the opportunity to grab his goggles. He’d need them to complete the uplink. But the first thing they registered was the weapon near Orion’s feet. Just as Orion saw it, a red frame boxed in the grenade launcher.
“No!”
Greyson snagged his slingshot and the closest ball; Orion erupted in a fierce shout, lunging toward the weapon; Greyson shot first and it connected with Orion’s arm. Orion’s shot went wild, hitting the roof to Greyson’s right.
Helpless, Greyson felt the shockwave lift him in the air, up and over the ledge.
Chapter 80
Orion’s angry sneer didn’t fade. He knew the boy had a wingsuit on. There wasn’t much of a chance he could work himself out of the spin he was in, but there was enough of a chance that he had to check. Keeping the launcher level, he took deliberate steps through the smoke that Greyson’s fancy ball-bearing had produced. He paused near the smoky ledge, not wanting to be surprised, and then leaned over, aiming toward the street.
There was nothing except drones, smoke, and rubble.
Satisfied, he smiled to himself and called the helicopter. “Roof’s clear. Evac now!”
If he’d been able to see through the smoke, he may have been able to see Greyson rise from the other side of the building, riding Liam up as if it were an elevator. As a missile struck the skyscraper, rocking the roof below, he couldn’t hear Greyson jump to the building and kneel at the HELM’s control.
But Orion heard the HELM firing up and turned, squinting through the smoke at the spotlight-like device in the corner. It spun on its base, facing him with its giant glowing eye.
Realizing it was too late, his brain told him to raise the gun – but his body was telling him that he was on fire. The pain scorched his chest, his arms. He dropped the weapon, screaming with an electronic rumble as the invisible beam worked its way to his face.
Unbearable pain.
Fire.
Anger.
Hate.
And he was on the ground, a crumpled mess when it stopped. The pain hadn’t stopped, but the sun had finally turned away – leaving in its place a boy standing behind it. His face was full of pity, but resolve. Orion glared at him, twitching, shaking from the pain. He wanted to scream, tell him how much he hated him. How pleasurable it would be to kill him. How Fate would win.
But the boy had heard the helicopter; he glanced one more time in his direction and ran toward the ledge. Spreading his winged arms, he leapt off, disappearing below.
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Survive.
The wind gouged him from below, pressing him up, trying to pull him into one of the skyscrapers to the left or the right. His thin wings were his salvation.
Just survive.
He fell past a buzzing drone, nearly clipping its wing as it launched its last missile with fire. Anti-aircraft guns raked the air, flowing from the vehicle below. The bullets peppered windows in loud crashes. He kicked left and right, a fragile bird in a hurricane.
How to survive this?
A building toppled a block ahead, the scale of it beyond belief. A torrent of glass, desks, and concrete rubble pouring out its sides like an avalanche.
[Go over, Greyson. You’ll make it.]
It was Grover’s voice, deep and gruff. Somehow it was reassuring.
“Aagggh!”
He pushed at the wind as the mountainous debris filled his sights.
Climb!
He winced and closed his eyes.
SWOOOOP!
He buzzed over the debris as it fell toward the street below.
Even as the wind surged against his face, he sighed in relief.
[Sweep the area. Find a drone.]
He turned his face, pointing the goggle’s camera in every direction. There were drones all around, some a block past, zipping between the buildings still standing. Others were above, engaged with jets, exploding, littering the city with their remains. But there was one below.
A target triangle locked on it, following it through the air, bouncing to keep up.
[That’s the one. Get to it. Fast.]
He stiffened, made himself as aerodynamic as possible, and accelerated on the lined path toward the drone. The air felt harder. It pushed his goggles deep into his cheekbones, pulled his hair so hard his scalp hurt. But he was advancing on it, several stories below – half a block ahead.
The world began to blur around him, everything but the target drone falling to the periphery of his mind. The dangers became mere obstacles between him and his goal. The car-sized debris that fell from the sky like meteors. The bullets streaming from a high alley where a helicopter was hiding. A disintegrating drone above, splintering as a HELM’s beam burned through its center. They were the sideshow. He and the drone were the main attraction.
[Grab on its wing. Close to its hull.]
Easy for you to say.
The drone kept its linear path, nearing the avenue of skyscrapers’ end. Beyond downtown the anti-aircraft guns were littering the air with explosions, puffs of black smoke, tracer-fire and anti-air missiles. It was a death zone for the drones, meant to let none escape. He had to intercept it now, or it could veer away – and he’d never catch it then.
Arching his back, he slowed his descent, hovering as a vulture over the pterodactyl. Its wingspan was massive up close – over 60 feet. He could lie down on top of it ten times and not reach from end to end. Though intimidating, at this point he was thankful for the bigger target.
Hovering over it, he made micro-movements – little twitches of the toes and hands, acting as a rudder as he descended closer and closer.
That’s it. Just a little more.
He came within a body length, the long, flat wing just below – his landing pad. He could hear the drone’s whining engine now above the wind.
Almost there.
As soon as he would make a grab for the wing’s lip, he knew his flight would go crazy – whipping him away – so he’d have to do it as fast as possible. And he couldn’t miss.
[You can do this. Patience. Get ahead of it.]
He floated just above the wing, rocking with its wake. The closer he got, the shakier it became. He couldn’t hold on much longer.
I’m losing it!
He backed off to regroup himself. He’d been holding his breath, growing faint. It caught up to him and he gulped in the air that sifted through his gritted teeth like a fire hydrant.
But when he looked up, he saw the death zone. Explosions thudded ahead. Thick black smoke. A drone – just like his – lost its nose, and its wings twirled toward the ground hundreds of feet below.
Thud. Thud-thud. THUD!
[Now, Greyson!]
Abandoning caution, he dropped toward the wing and reached out. And that’s when it went wrong.
THUD!
An explosion rang in his ear, the heat blistering him; his eyes closed as the black smoke furled around him. Blistering hot shrapnel hit his side. He heard the wind ripping at his wing where the holes had opened. And the drone jerked away, veering in a wide arc.
[Greyson!]
Chapter 81
Greyson’s eyes were still latched shut. The rippling of his broken wings was like a flag in the wind. He heard the drone’s incessant whining, the thudding of explosions now behind him, then his own guttural strains as he gripped the wing with all his might, his legs dangling behind.
He had held on.
Somehow.
He opened his eyes and saw his fingers curled like steel around the wing’s edge, the sky and snowflakes folding around them as the drone circled back toward the city, away from the death zone.
[You did it! You okay?]
It was Murray.
He felt the sharp pain in his side, the hotness of blood, and he had to look. He eyed his frayed parachute bag and in do
ing so, he understood those by the monitor’s video feed would see the same thing. And then they would know.
With no wings, there would be no escape.
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Sydney’s eyes washed wet with tears. She had to look away from the monitor. Beep was there to hug her tight.
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Greyson shook off the fear with a painful wince. Everything else was secondary. “I’m fine. Now what?” he shouted over the gusting wind.
[I’m uploading the diagram now. You’ll need the laser cutter.]
The green diagram appeared on his HUD, a digital instruction guide appearing like a hologram on the drone’s side. A rectangle outlined a portion of the drone’s side where he would need to access.
With a grunt he pulled himself farther up the wing and alternated hand movements to shift closer to the hull like a mountain climber clinging to an inch of a cliff’s overhang. “How much time?”
[One minute.]
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Drake followed Murray’s eyes to the clocks counting down. He saw the monitor with the maps tracking the swarms – saw how close the dots were to their targets. Another monitor showed security camera footage of the Redmond facility. The Rubicon team moving through the halls in a gun battle. Avery and Jarryd huddled behind a desk.
He sat, prayed for a moment, then peeked over his folded hands.
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The pain radiated down Greyson’s ribs as he sided up the hull and pulled himself higher, putting the wing under his left armpit. The pain was almost too much to bear. He could feel blood dripping down to his hip. But he had to focus. The suffering was for a reason. It sharpened him. Gave him endorphins he would need one last time.
The wind washed over his head as he turned to fish the tool from his vest pouch. When his fingers found it, he dreaded taking it out. One foul movement and it would fall – and with it all hope would be lost.
