The Iron Fist

by Andy Briggs

  “Don’t,” wheezed Mason. He was fumbling for something in his pocket.

  Dev tensed. He was expecting the thug to draw a weapon. His imagination screamed that it would be a knife – or a gun. He wouldn’t put anything past Mason.

  Lot placed a hand on Dev’s and gently forced him to lower the wrench. It was then that Dev saw that the bully was clutching an asthma inhaler. He took two deep slugs from it. His eyes were bloodshot, streaming with tears.

  “Hay fever,” he wheezed.

  Dev stared at Mason, who was fighting for breath, and wondered how he could ever have seen him as a threat. However, this was no time to be sympathetic.

  “You’re trespassing,” Dev repeated. “I’m calling the cops.”

  Mason held up his hand. “No. I didn’t mean… I just wanted to know where you lived. So I followed her.” He nodded towards Lot.

  Lot noticed the suspicious look Dev was giving her. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t know he was stalking me.”

  “Following,” Mason corrected. Warily he regarded the wrench in Dev’s hand. “Nobody at school knew where you lived.”

  “I like to keep it that way. Which still doesn’t explain why you’re here. Were you planning to try and get your own back?”

  Mason didn’t answer, but the flicker of a smile betrayed the truth. That had been exactly his plan. Dev felt his stomach knot. Couldn’t he even feel safe in his own home?

  He raised the wrench again. “Well, beat it or I beat you – or shove hay in your face.” Mason’s eyes narrowed and Dev knew he had touched on a sore point. “And if my uncle finds you were here then it will get a whole lot worse. Out.”

  He marshalled Lot and Mason from the barn, ensuring Mason kept several paces ahead. They made straight for the gate. Dev could feel the unseen security system monitoring their every step. Even though he was getting rid of the trespassers, he knew there would be hell to pay once he had explained things to his uncle.

  “You’re not throwing me out too, are you?” protested Lot.

  “You brought him here, Lottie.” Dev knew the use of her full name – as when people called him Devon – was an act of war. He had expected her to protest, but she didn’t, and her silence infuriated him further. He felt stupid for believing she had come just to spend time with him.

  Dev was so lost in his thoughts that it took several moments for him to realize that Lot and Mason had stopped in their tracks. They were looking at a convoy of army trucks heading down the lane towards the farm. Oh dear, this could be bad. Dev racked his brain. Had his uncle mentioned anything about a delivery today? With Lot and Mason here, that would be awful timing.

  At that moment a huge explosion erupted behind the farm and, for the second time that day, the intruder alarm screamed urgently.

  “We are under attack! Devon, get to the bunker now!”

  Dev was running even before his wristwatch chimed with Charles Parker’s frantic instructions. The bunker was three hundred metres ahead and Dev felt his heart pound and his legs turn to jelly as he ran, dragging Lot and Mason alongside him. He flinched as a drab green military helicopter buzzed low overhead and he caught a glimpse of smoke rising from the rocket launcher strapped to its side. A bright flame of light, and another missile shot out.

  “DOWN!” yelled Dev, tackling Lot to the floor.

  They landed hard, seconds before the barn exploded and a wall of heat washed over them as an orange fireball punched through the air.

  Dev could hear the bleats of incinerating sheep, punctuated by Mason’s shrill scream as a smouldering sheep’s head landed next to him.

  Lot slapped Mason hard across the cheek. “Pull yourself together!” She raised the severed sheep’s head. The animal was still chewing, sparks flying from its neck, a tangle of wires and servomotors dangling loose. “A … a robot?” she gasped.

  Dev looked back at the gate as the lead truck smashed through it at speed. The gate collapsed, enormous wheels crushing Lot’s bike.

  By the time the vehicle skidded to a halt, Dev was on his feet and running around the farmhouse. Ahead, the reinforced doors to the bunker outhouse were already spiralling closed. Inside he could see his uncle’s back, hunched over a bank of screens and controls.

  Dev forced himself to run faster, shoving Lot and Mason ahead of him. He leapt through the rapidly closing portal as it sealed with a deep boom of finality that shook the bunker.

  Dev was panting hard as he studied the bank of monitors on the wall of the bunker. The four trucks had spread out around the farmhouse, troops jumping from the back. The helicopter whirled overhead, obscured by the thick black smoke cloud from the barn.

  When he could finally catch his breath, Dev asked his uncle, “Who are they?”

  Charles Parker was staring past Dev’s shoulder. “That’s exactly what I was asking myself.” His tone indicated he wasn’t talking about the attacking helicopter.

  Dev followed his uncle’s gaze and turned to see Lot and Mason standing at the door, looking around the bunker with wide eyes. He knew they shouldn’t be here.

  “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t leave them out there.” He scowled at Mason. “Well, one of them I could have…” he added under his breath.

  The bunker gently shook. Then the doors opened once again.

  “Out,” barked Charles Parker

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” said Mason, unable to disguise the panic in his voice. “There are crazy terrorists out there!”

  “Out!” Charles Parker jabbed a finger towards the door they had entered through.

  Lot and Mason turned, and were surprised to see that beyond the door wasn’t a farm but a smooth-floored tunnel lit by strips of bright lights.

  “What is this place?” asked Lot in awe.

  With a rapid but imperceptible motion, the bunker had descended into the Inventory below. It was standard procedure during an attack. Dev stepped out into the corridor. They were at a T-junction, one passageway stretched ahead, while further corridors curved out of sight either side. Lot and Mason slowly followed him.

  “We’re ten storeys underground. They can’t get here.” Dev regarded his new companions’ confused looks and held out his arms like a showman. “Welcome to the Inventory.” His smile evaporated like moisture in a furnace when he spotted his uncle’s frosty expression.

  “Lockdown complete,” said Eema from across the public address system.

  There was a heavy rolling noise behind them, and Dev’s hand covered his eyes in despair as Eema’s armoured husk rounded the corner and bore down on them.

  “And that is…?” asked Mason in a trembling voice.

  “And that is the security,” sighed Dev.

  Lee stepped out of the lead truck as it pulled up beside the farmhouse. He secured a respirator over his nose and mouth to filter out the cloying black smoke. The skies chose that moment to start snowing, the pure white flakes at odds with the scorched earth.

  He strode down the line of the trucks as the team struggled to unload the crates. Even Volta wheezed as he lifted a box. Only Kwolek was making it look easy, single-handedly lifting the heaviest of the crates.

  Lee joined her, pulling his suit jacket tighter against the chill. He looked around the farm with a doubtful frown. “Sure hope this is the right place.”

  Kwolek kicked a robotic sheep’s head. “This is the place, Lee. Try and relax, the Collector won’t kill you … yet.”

  Lee pulled out his phone as they walked around the farmhouse. It instantly detected the subtle signals coming from the complex beneath their feet. “Looks like the place is sealed as tight as a nut.”

  Kwolek nodded towards the box she was carrying. “We have sonic drills, plasma laser and atomizers. They could open up Fort Knox like a can of tuna!”

  “Yeah, but we’re not going to get in through the front door with them.”

  They stopped around the back of the house. Where the bunker used to stand, a small patch of bubbling dirt w
as changing from red to black as the molten ground cooled. Lee pulled his suit sleeve away from his watch. A small hologram of the Collector appeared.

  “We are here. The bunker was kitted with a plasma cutter. No need for a lift shaft; it just melted through the earth like a knife through butter, sealing the rock back together overhead so we can’t follow it.”

  The Collector nodded. “There are other ways in. See to it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kwolek suddenly spoke up before the hologram faded. “There were only supposed to be two of them down there, the man and the boy. Who were the other two kids?”

  The image of the Collector turned to stare at her. Even though it was merely a hologram, Kwolek felt a chill run through her. Very few people had ever filled Kwolek with fear, but her new boss went straight to the top of that list.

  After what felt like minutes, the Collector finally spoke. “They are of no concern.”

  Kwolek felt a sense of relief when his image disappeared. She would rather face the lethal defences of the Inventory below than speak to the Collector again any time soon.

  Mason and Lot recoiled as the sphere bore down on them at speed. Only Dev held his ground, knowing that Eema would stop in time. With perfect precision the husk stopped inches from him. Panels etched along her surface sprang open with the faintest hum from the electromagnetic motors – and the machine fluidly unfolded, the central body now balanced on two huge circular segmented wheels, like a roller skater. Eema’s emoji head appeared, the giant yellow face glowering at them.

  “Hey, Eema,” sighed Dev.

  Eema studied Mason and Lot. Mason took a nervous step backwards, but Lot couldn’t keep the smile from her face. She reached out and ran her fingers across the machine. “Wow…”

  A pair of arms suddenly extended from Eema’s husk, armed with lethal-looking cannons, the end of the barrels glowing with ominous intent. Lot snatched her hand away.

  “The Inventory is now in lockdown. Two intruders detected,” barked Eema as she stabbed the weapons closer to Mason and Lot.

  Dev stepped in front of her, waving his arms. “No, no, no! They’re with me!”

  Dev spun round to see that his uncle had appeared. Stepping into the corridor from the bunker, he waved Eema away. The machine retreated, but didn’t lower its weapons.

  “They’re guests, Eema.” Charles spat the unfamiliar word out. “Take them and Devon to the canteen.”

  “Canteen?” said Dev. “We’re not hungry. And in case it escaped your attention, we are under attack!”

  Charles Parker circled Lot and Devon, regarding them with mistrust. “And in case it escaped your attention, you violated every security protocol when you brought these two down here … at the very same instant we were attacked.” He lapsed into silence for a moment, then looked at Dev. “Is that a coincidence?”

  Dev opened his mouth to argue, but knew it was pointless.

  His uncle glanced at Eema and indicated down the corridor. “Don’t let them out until this is over. You know the procedure.” He turned around without another word and stepped back into the bunker.

  Dev said nothing as Eema led them down the corridor to the canteen. He could hear Lot and Mason murmur with curiosity at every sealed door that they passed.

  They entered the canteen, a vast room which could easily have sat their entire school. White tables and blue chairs filled the space. Soothing coloured lights switched automatically to soft pastel as the environment system analysed their mood, selecting a theme designed to calm them.

  “Stay put,” said Eema. Then she folded up into a ball and rolled back along the corridor the way they had come.

  As Dev took a step towards the door it slid closed with a pneumatic hiss. He pressed the console pad next to it. It bleeped, but remained resolutely shut.

  “Rats,” Dev muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes, his fingers moving in swirls over the console. Still nothing happened.

  “What are you trying to do?” said Lot, looking at him curiously.

  “The door is sealed. Unless I can get to the circuits I can’t open it. Great!” Dev kicked the door out of frustration.

  When he turned around he saw Lot had folded her arms, her brow furrowed as she stared at him. Mason sat quietly on the table behind her.

  “OK, Devon, what is going on here? I came over because I felt sorry for you after my party. I wanted to try and be friends, but instead I have been shot at, survived being bludgeoned by a mechanical sheep, been kidnapped and taken into some weird underground lair, only to be imprisoned by rolling robot.”

  “Yeah, it’s been an unusual day,” said Dev, slumping down at a table. He stared sidelong at Mason. His uncle’s comment about Mason and Lot appearing at the same time as the attack was bothering him.

  Lot sucked in a long breath to calm herself. “Firstly, what is this place?”

  Dev drummed his fingers on the table as he considered what he should say. What did he have to lose? His uncle would be wiping their memories after this – his own too, with any luck.

  “This is the Inventory. It’s a warehouse for … for really cool stuff.”

  “Like the military?” said Mason in a low voice.

  “No. Well, yes. Sort of. Not just the military though. Inventors throughout the ages have created some amazing things you’ve never heard of. They still do. That’s what we keep in here. It’s mind-blowing stuff. You know, we have a car that runs entirely on water. No petrol, no oil – just water.”

  “So why keep it a secret?” asked Lot.

  Dev shrugged. “I guess because some people think we’re not ready for such responsibility.”

  Mason glanced up. “What people?”

  Dev didn’t even look at him. As far as he was concerned Mason was an unwelcome addition to a very unwelcome situation. “The World Consortium.”

  Mason and Lot exchanged baffled glances and shrugged.

  “You’ve heard of the United Nations? Then they’re ten levels above that.”

  “It sounds more like somebody would lose money,” said Lot cynically. “Like the petrol companies.”

  “Maybe. But we have several water-powered cars down here. Cool, right? Problem is that we’re running out of water too. Surely we need it to drink, not to use to run our cars. When something seems too good to be true, it usually is. Least that’s what the World Consortium says. They own this place.”

  “Never heard of them,” grumbled Mason.

  Lot laughed. “That’s because there’s no such thing. He’s playing with you.”

  Dev shook his head. “No, it’s a real thing.” Lot rolled her eyes, but Dev continued. “Everything here is secret. Top secret. In fact several levels above top secret.”

  Lot decided to humour him. “So that makes you a secret agent? Impressive.”

  Dev gave a jaded laugh. “I wish. More like an agent of secrets … or a caretaker. Junior caretaker,” he added with a shake of the head. “My uncle runs the place. I … I just get in his way.”

  He thought he saw Lot soften for a moment, or perhaps it was just an illusion caused by the mood lighting. He couldn’t be sure.

  “The robot sheep are security, then?” said Lot.

  “Decoys. We don’t have time to run a real farm.”

  Mason stood up. “And the big wheelie robot?”

  “Eema. She’s the artificially intelligent computer system behind all of this.” He gestured around the room. “The ’bot is just a husk that Eema downloads into, like a suit. She has different ones to do a bunch of different tasks. Like protecting us.”

  Lot began to pace the room. “Which brings me to question twenty-six. Who is attacking us?”

  “And when can I go home?” Mason chipped in.

  “Believe me, Mason, nobody wants you to leave here more than I do.” Dev tried the door button again. It remained closed. “I suppose you can go the moment all of this is over.”

  Mason sat back down. His leg twitched nervously. He lo
oked terrified. Dev was surprised to feel a little sympathy for him.

  “And how long will that take?” asked Lot.

  Dev shrugged. “Probably not long.”

  The Inventory had had intruders before, but they were usually people who had stumbled across the farm hoping to steal a few apples or, at worst, some farming machinery. Rogue foreign government agents had attacked the Inventory three times before, but those incursions hadn’t lasted more than twenty minutes before they’d been seen off by security. This was the first time he’d seen such a large force attack. However, he was confident Eema and his uncle would stop them soon enough.

  There was no way the invaders would ever set foot inside the Inventory.

  Volta’s electric screwdriver whirled as he assembled the last curved section from the packing box next to him. Once the final nuts were in place he gently laid the four-metre metal ring on the floor.

  The Italian stepped aside as a wiry American mercenary began connecting thick cables to the ring.

  “Why did that take you so long?” snarled the American.

  “This is science – not Ikea!” barked Volta, but the American had turned away, trailing the cables back to a truck.

  “Come on, people, we’re losing time. Get the rig in place!” called Lee.

  Lee watched as the American connected the cables to a large generator in the back of the truck. He glanced at his watch and anxiously chewed a stick of gum, aware that the Collector would be monitoring their progress from afar. They couldn’t afford to fall behind schedule.

  Four mercenaries, their uniforms sporting an entwined double-H logo, heaved the completed circle across the farm. A woman who went under the code name Fermi was marking an area of the ground with a laser.

  “Place it within the markers. Quickly now!” She clapped her hands like an irritated schoolteacher.

  Grunting, the mercenaries lowered the ring into place. She nodded to Lee. “We’re ready.”

  Lee walked over to the edge of the ring as the generator hummed to life. The ring let out a hiss and the air within it shimmered like a heat haze.