ATLAS 3 (ATLAS Series Book 3)

by Isaac Hooke

  “Let’s move!” I said.

  Lui, Hijak, Manic, and I hurried down the black resin that coated the outside of the building. We half ran, half slid across the surface, avoiding the dark pits along the way. The kid looked stiff as a board in Lui’s arms. The sound of clattering mandibles echoed incessantly from the holes around us, rising in intensity as the unseen alien entities neared the surface.

  On my HUD, the positions of the remaining squad members updated as we came back into range. The Chief and the others had abandoned the armory and relocated farther up the street.

  “Chief, do you read?” I sent.

  “Yes,” the Chief returned through the static.

  “Looks like we’re going to be hip deep in crabs soon,” I transmitted.

  “Why do you think we moved?” the Chief returned. “We detected some massive reverberations beneath the armory. Something big is coming. Proceed to our position as fast as you can.”

  The four of us reached the bottom of the resinous slope.

  The chitters crescendoed behind me.

  I glanced back. From nearly every hole those dreaded eight-legged, multi-headed crabs emerged, mandibles thrashing eagerly at the air.

  Lui shoved the child-sized aReal visor over the kid’s eyes. “Watch some cartoons!” he told the boy, according to the translation my own aReal relayed.

  I slid the sniper rifle from my shoulder and ran toward the Chief’s position.

  Beside us, the armory caved as a fresh sinkhole appeared. A behemoth of a slug burst to the surface. Its skin was white hot—it was in “burrowing” mode. Two hundred alien crabs lined its upper flanks. Those crabs dove to the street even as I watched, and the cords that linked them to the host slug unwound behind them.

  “Hurry up!” the Chief sent.

  We joined with the Chief and all eight of us helped port the nuclear payload through the streets, moving as fast as our jumpsuits allowed. It was lucky we’d just recharged the suit batteries, because maintaining this speed while sharing the weight of a nuclear warhead was consuming power at a frenetic rate.

  Bullets started to come in on us from behind.

  “Don’t tell me they’ve got possessed Centurions, too,” Hijak said.

  “When it rains it pours, bro,” Manic said.

  Up ahead, more crabs flowed onto the street, blocking our route. Other crabs leaped down the black resin caking the buildings on either side of us. All of them skittered straight toward the payload and us.

  In our free hands we wielded rifles or pistols, both set to automatic, and severed the cords that linked these new crabs to their as-yet-unseen host slugs.

  Lui was the only one who didn’t shoot, as the kid occupied the arm that wasn’t holding the payload. The child still had his opaque aReal visor lowered, and hopefully was oblivious to the life or death struggle going on around him. Still, I doubted even a children’s show with the volume set to max could shut out the sounds of gunfire. Either way, I prayed none of the incoming bullets found the kid.

  “Getting too hot!” the Chief said, not referring to the temperature. “We’re sitting ducks if we stay here. Time to dine and dash, men! This way!”

  We sprinted up the sloping resin that plastered the building beside us, hewing down the crabs in our path, concentrating on severing the cords—the easiest method of killing the disgusting beings.

  Just behind, the white-hot slug slammed into the black substance and began worming up the slope after us. Two Centurions accompanied it, firing away. The Phants possessing the robots were fairly bad shots, and shards of resin exploded into the air around me. Still, I knew that even poor shooters would score a hit eventually.

  The resin led to the top of the two-story building and we piled onto the rooftop with the payload.

  “To the opposite edge!” the Chief said. “We’re going to get airborne. Transmitting waypoints!”

  New beacons appeared on my HUD, flashing upon various rooftops ahead.

  We hurried to the other side of the building and linked the AIs of our jetpacks so that the prerequisite thrust intensities and directions would be calculated automatically, taking into account our individual positions with respect to the payload. The AIs were set to activate when we leaped from the building.

  Crabs were already swarming onto the rooftop behind us. The front portion of the slug slammed onto the terrace, scattering some of the creatures.

  “On three!” Chief Bourbonjack said as we ran.

  “One!”

  I shot down a crab that leaped into our path.

  “Two!”

  Bender and Manic severed the cords of two more crabs that got in the way.

  “Three!”

  We reached the rooftop’s edge and jumped in unison, getting in a good boost from our strength-enhanced suits. Before the momentum from the jump ebbed, the AIs in our jetpacks kicked in, thrusting us toward the rooftop of the next building, which proved two stories taller.

  Behind me, a few crabs leaped skyward. Their claws and mandibles snapped at the empty air just underneath my boots.

  We landed on the target rooftop and began porting the payload to the far side.

  The child remained remarkably calm in Lui’s grasp. I don’t know what program the kid was watching on his aReal but I sure could have used a sampling of it.

  We leaped toward the adjacent building, where the next waypoint was set. Again, before our momentum ebbed, our jetpacks auto-fired, bringing us up and across.

  I eyed my fuel levels, which were already precariously low. When we landed on the next building, I estimated I had enough fuel for maybe two more jets.

  “Chief!” Snakeoil said. “The squad is almost out of fuel!”

  “Just one more jump,” the Chief said as we dashed across the rooftop, weaving between the superstructures. “We’ll make our stand there.”

  The Chief sent an updated waypoint and we veered sideways toward it. The target building was the highest in the vicinity at thirteen stories tall. It was about a hundred meters away to our right, and six stories up.

  “Too high!” Snakeoil transmitted. “We won’t make it.”

  Bullets started to come in at us from robot snipers who had attained the rooftops of other nearby buildings.

  “Check your numbers!” the Chief sent. “We will make it.”

  “We’ll be exposed during the jump!” Bender said.

  “If we stay here, we’ll be even more exposed,” Chief Bourbonjack said. “We need that height!”

  Before we could think about it too long, he led us to the edge and we made the leap. Our jetpacks kicked in.

  Heights were never my strong suit and I made a point of not looking down.

  As Bender had said, we were indeed exposed: bullets continued to come in, some so close that they ricocheted off the payload.

  “Gah!” Snakeoil said. Blood spurted from his upper arm.

  Three stories to the rooftop . . .

  Two stories . . .

  One by one the jetpacks around me began to shut off as the fuel ran out, and our ascent slowed.

  My own jetpack deactivated and we were down to four. The AIs compensated for the missing thrust components and continued bringing us upward.

  One story to the rooftop . . .

  Two more jetpacks shut down, further decelerating our ascent.

  I accidentally looked down at the dizzying heights between my boots and nearly regurgitated the MRE I’d sipped earlier.

  But then the rooftop replaced the empty air and we landed.

  What a relief.

  My brothers and I carried the nuclear payload to the center of the terrace and lowered the device. Snakeoil patched his arm with the suitrep kit from the cargo pocket in his leg while we took up defensible positions. The majority of us faced the incoming horde on the southernmost e
dge. The Chief ordered Manic to watch the eastern edge, Lui the west, Bender the north.

  Lui set the child down beside the payload, lifted the kid’s aReal, and told him what I guessed were words of reassurance. In moments Lui left the boy to assume his assigned spot on the western portion of the building. Abandoned there in the middle of the rooftop, the kid huddled against the payload and put on his aReal once more. Probably a good idea.

  I dropped beside the southern edge and scanned for combat robots in my scope. Hijak did the same beside me.

  We were out of reach of the slugs and crabs, for now. Even so, I felt the building vibrate as one of the slugs repeatedly slammed into the base of the structure, which was caked in geronium. I wondered why the slug didn’t switch to burrowing mode and sap the foundations out from under us. Either the alien entity wasn’t very bright or some other reason ruled out that option—maybe the slug simply didn’t like the idea of a million tonnes of concrete, metal, and glass potentially collapsing onto it.

  While I focused on finding snipers, Snakeoil and Skullcracker, our heavy gunners, issued suppressive fire as necessary. The Chief held a Carl Gustav and fired selectively at the larger targets, including slugs and ATLAS 5s. I didn’t spot any model 6s down there. Yet. For the most part we ignored the crabs, which were too distant to pose any threats.

  Bullets slammed into the side of the building just below me.

  Through my scope, I spotted several Centurions on the rooftop we’d vacated earlier. They were crouched behind various superstructures, aiming up at us.

  “Hijak, Centurions just below,” I said. He would see the enemy positions on his HUD map.

  I fired and got one combat robot squarely in the brain case region on its chest. I moved my aim from robot to robot, and with Hijak’s help I cleared them out.

  When that was done, instinctively I checked everyone’s vitals. The bars representing Manic and Snakeoil were a darker green, meaning that both men had sustained recent gunshot wounds, but otherwise the two of them were still in the game. So far, no one seemed badly injured.

  More fire came in, this time from the rooftop of a building on our eastern flank.

  Blood spurted from the front of Chief Bourbonjack’s jumpsuit and he collapsed, almost dropping his Gustav over the building.

  I low-crawled to his side, pulling him from the edge. I saw immediately where he was hit.

  He had taken a gut wound: one of the most painful shots anyone could endure.

  “We have to get that sutured, Chief,” I said, dragging him to the middle of the rooftop. He didn’t contradict me—his face had gone very pale.

  As rockets slammed into the southernmost side of the building, I worked on the Chief. I was vaguely aware as the squad retreated from the edge.

  I removed the Chief’s glove and arm assemblies, followed by his chest piece, revealing the liquid-cooling-and-ventilation undergarment, otherwise known as “cool vents.” The stench from the gut wound was nauseating, but I didn’t scrunch my nose or give any other indication that I was bothered by it. I didn’t want to worry the Chief unnecessarily. But he wasn’t even looking at me: he gazed off into space, jabbering something unintelligible under his breath.

  “You’re going to be all right, Chief,” I said. “You’re going to make it through this.”

  He gripped my arm suddenly and pulled me in. “Lead them, Rage. If I don’t make it, lead them!”

  I shook my head. “You’re going to be fine. Let me work.”

  “Rage—”

  “You’re going to be fine!” His words evoked a panic in me. I couldn’t imagine losing the Chief, let alone leading in his absence.

  He clenched my arm so tightly that I felt his grip through the fabric of my jumpsuit. “If I die, you—will—lead—goddammit!”

  I stared into his pain-maddened eyes. I couldn’t say no to him. “Okay, Chief. Okay.”

  He released his death grip.

  I injected morphine and he relaxed immediately.

  I checked his vitals. He’d lost a lot of blood. I had to work fast.

  “Could use a shot of bourbon, too, right about now,” the Chief murmured.

  With help from the surgical laser in my glove, I snipped open the cooling undergarment around the gut wound and pulled the fabric aside.

  Bullets started coming in from behind me and I ducked right down. I wasn’t close to the building’s edge—gunfire shouldn’t have been able to reach me here.

  What now?

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Centurions fanning out onto the rooftop from the direction of the stairwell.

  Damn it.

  Skullcracker and the others ducked behind the various superstructures of the roof and turned their weapons inward, firing at the robot intruders. My brothers laid down suppressive fire while I dragged the Chief behind the nuclear payload for cover. It was the safest place to hide—the shielding on the warhead would block even the most powerful armor piercers.

  I lowered the medbag from my back and retrieved the medical forceps. I applied a local anesthetic and switched my aReal to X-ray mode. Taking off my glove, I dug the forceps into the Chief’s gut wound, reaching for the bullet that was now visible within his flesh thanks to the X-rays. It was tricky, because most body tissue appeared as translucent outlines in this display mode, while the bullet was solid black. So I had to guess the path the bullet had taken, but oftentimes guessed wrong and the forceps snagged in some intestinal fold, forcing me to backtrack and reposition. The smell worsened as I probed.

  Meanwhile, the Chief gritted his teeth and slammed a palm repeatedly into the rooftop. I was about to give him more morphine when he relaxed entirely.

  I double-checked his vitals. He’d merely fallen into the sweet bliss of unconsciousness—the pain had been too much.

  Gunfire ricocheted from the payload beside me but I ignored it. I had to concentrate.

  “We have to blow the stairs!” Lui transmitted.

  A grenade went off somewhere, momentarily stemming the tide of incoming bullets.

  “Breacher, got any plastic left?” Hijak sent.

  “Hell ya!” Snakeoil, our breacher, replied.

  I finally wrapped the forceps around the foreign object and slowly brought the bullet through the intestinal folds. The spent projectile caught on some tissue halfway through and I almost lost it. I reversed motion, slid the forceps deeper, repositioned, and backtracked. Finally the bullet broke the surface. I switched off X-ray mode, and as I lifted the forceps free, black sludge competed with blood in oozing from the wound.

  The bullet’s tip was flat, thanks to the momentum-draining impact against the jumpsuit. I pocketed it without thinking, though I doubted the Chief would ever want the macabre souvenir.

  More grenades went off, more gunfire.

  “Explosives placed!” Snakeoil transmitted.

  Into the wound I injected the contents of an Xstat syringe—its tiny pellets would absorb the blood and provide a partial internal hemostatic seal. I sprinkled on some Mister Clot—topical hemostatic powder—and finalized the treatment with the application of a skin suture. That was the best I could do for now. He’d continue to bleed internally, as well as spill the toxic contents of his intestines into his abdominal cavity, until we could get him to a Weaver.

  I checked my map and saw that the nearest hospital was about three klicks distant. It may as well have been lightyears away given our current predicament. Besides, even if we made it, the hospital was too close to the horde. The enemy would overwhelm our position before the Weavers could even begin to work on the Chief.

  An explosion rocked the rooftop, and when I glanced over the rim of the device, I saw the stairwell cave inward, sealing off the entrance. In front of it the crumpled bodies of combat robots fanned outward. Blue, glowing liquid trickled from the twisted metal as the Phants that possessed t
he robots flowed free. We had to watch ourselves, because if any of those glowing entities touched us, we were dead.

  “And that’s how it’s done, bitches,” Bender sent.

  I replaced the Chief’s jumpsuit components. I wanted him ready to move if the opportunity arose. When he was suited up, I returned my attention to the battle at hand.

  Gunfire was still coming in toward the payload, oddly enough, despite its position at the center of the rooftop, far from the perimeters. Had the Centurions already dug out the stairwell?

  I peered past the nuclear device.

  Centurions were leaping over the edge of our rooftop, scaling the very walls of the building to reach us. My brothers were taking them down, but the enemy kept coming. It was like all the combat robots in the city had converged on this building, and were climbing it with the aid of jumpjets.

  I glanced at the kid, who huddled behind the payload near the Chief and me. The child still wore his opaque aReal, but from his body language I could tell he was scared—he was cowering, his jaw was clenched, his fists were squeezed tightly. But at least he was safe. For now.

  I spotted two liquid Phants approaching Skullcracker and Bender from behind.

  “Skullcracker, Bender,” I said over the comm. “Phants on your six.”

  Skullcracker and Bender immediately repositioned themselves. In the process Bender leaped over another nearby Phant. The liquid instantly spread apart underneath him, as if repelled.

  Odd.

  “Take that, bitches!” Bender said when he had resumed cover. Crouching, he fired into the next wave of Centurions.

  A sniper’s armor-piercing bullet struck Bender on the front left side. His suit absorbed much of the momentum, preventing him from somersaulting into the air, but he was still flung backward to the ground.

  He didn’t get up. Blood erupted from his side.

  I swung my scope around, searching for the attacker. The sniper had to be on this very rooftop, given the angle of penetration.

  There. A Centurion sniper was perched on the northern edge of the building, aiming at its next target: me.

  I hastily positioned the red dot in my scope over its brain case, but before I could fire, the Centurion was sent reeling off the building. One of my platoon brothers had gotten it.