Strong, cold fingers lifted him up and marched him outside the house.
They felt like hands, but they weren’t.
Keene twisted his head around and dragged his feet. Strike lagged behind, her long hair looking somewhat lopsided. Her expression was hardly one of amusement.
“Some plan.”
“You’ll see,” Keene said. The electric plant on the hill grew larger. He could hear Wade’s breathing on the other end of the open line. The metal beings continued to march him forward, up towards the facility on the hill.
But security work was their secondary purpose.
Their first purpose, above all else, was to maintain the park. Keep it safe.
At least, Keene was banking on this when he said, “Throw the switch.”
“On,” Wade said.
Nothing happened.
Then a giant explosion erupted in the village, creating a deafening roar and a shockwave that sent Keene face first to the ground, and a heap of metal parts on top of him.
30 | Strike Back
Keene shrugged off the tangled mass of shiny limbs, tripping over busted circuitry and malfunctioning automatons as he scrambled up the cobblestone road. The robots that hadn’t been torn asunder by the sizable explosion were in various states of disarray, humming about and bumping into each other as they tried to make sense of the ruined building spewing smoke.
Feeling a tap on his shoulder, Keene whirled around, fist cocked back.
“Slow down there,” Strike said. Her face streaked with soot, blonde hair dirtied and chopped askew, she looked like a vagrant who had been startled awake by a sudden noise. The whites of her eyes shone fiercely underneath the grit and grime, though, indicating she was ready.
He would need the help.
He watched the automatons regain some semblance of order. They streamed around Strike and Keene, ignoring them to attend to the flaming structure. The fire had spread across the grass situated between each squat building, and the team of automatons worked furiously to keep the blaze under control.
Keene gave a grim smile. “It worked.”
“Thank God those missiles were on the sub.”
“God had nothing to do with it,” Keene said, grimacing as the incline steepened. He craned his neck to glance at the plant on the hill, towering like a castle over a feudal landscape. “Thank your mother.”
“Yeah, that’ll definitely happen.”
They clambered over the terrain, reaching the summit in about five minutes. From the vantage point, Keene surveyed his handiwork. A thin layer of smoke hovered at the top of the dome, still being fed by the belching monster below. Little robots, looking like toy figurines, scurried over the landscape and tried to address the problem.
He walked up to the plant’s doors and threw them open.
Everything inside shone like buffed chrome. Rows of large metal tanks lined the interior, packed neat and tight side-by-side. The massive tanks went all the way to the ceiling, and were positioned flush against the walls.
The floor was smooth, other than two long, thin pipes jutting just above the surface, running parallel along the edge of the tanks. These pipes fed into a main console at the end of the plant.
A central catwalk hung from the ceiling, stretching from the entrance all the way to the console.
“So if we used all the explosives already,” Strike said, letting the door shut with a loud thud, “How you figure we’re going to take care of this?”
“I would not worry about that,” a cold, mechanical voice said, bouncing about the plant so as to seem that it was all enveloping, everywhere at once. “For you have to be alive in order to worry.”
Shots from a high-powered rifle peppered the glimmering silver ground, leaving craters near Keene’s feet as he grabbed Strike’s arm and ran. He squeezed between the nearest two tanks as bullets continued to rain down.
With the back of his head touching one tank, his nose still almost touched the one right in front of him. Strike’s leather jacket squeaked and cracked as she tried to get comfortable. He could smell the earthy, natural scent of the hide and a lot of sweat.
The firing stopped, and their assailant spoke again.
“You are messing with a wonderful plan. A brilliant plan.”
“Hawk,” Keene said, beneath his breath.
“The Hawk always catches the Rabbit. It has been that way since the dawn of time. You are the rabbits.”
“Great metaphor,” Strike said. “Like the double meaning.”
“Grab the pistol,” Keene said.
Strike moved her arm, her shoulder knocking against Keene’s side to reach for the backpack. “You’re too fat.”
Hawk reloaded her clip, announcing it with a thunderous spray of bullets. Water began to spring from the tanks.
“Adjust your position,” another voice said, this one deep and booming and authoritative, truly ringing out from every corner of the room. “The electro-conversion tanks cannot be collateral damage.”
Footsteps skittered along the catwalk.
Keene pushed Strike out of the crevice and tore for the console, keeping directly beneath the catwalk. The footsteps above stopped. Keene made sure he and Strike remained in Hawk’s blind spot.
A few rounds came down, but they were hopelessly wide.
“Take the bag,” Keene said. He felt Strike struggle to remove it while they ran. Their legs got tangled up and Keene stumbled, his palm touching the cool floor. But he managed to keep himself on two legs, and the slight pause gave Strike the opportunity to yank the nylon straps off.
“Got it,” she said.
“Go left,” Keene whispered, “Between the two tanks nearest the console.”
“I’m not leaving you out here—”
“She comes for me, you have a clean shot.”
Strike veered off. Keene saw her disappear between the two tanks. He slid to a halt in front of the hydroelectric plant’s main console. A giant screen took up the wall in front of him, flashing with various diagnostic data and figures. Plenty of kw/H output, enough to fuel the computer and the maintenance robots.
Keene was going to change that.
The large, echoing room had gone eerily silent. Keene glanced over his shoulder, seeing only the rows of tanks lining either side of the plant, and the doors out.
“Stop him, stop him, stop him,” the deep voice shouted. “He will ruin everything.”
The words faded, and the plant went silent once again, except for the light whir of the machinery.
Keene pressed his earpiece and whispered, “Wade? You need to guide me here.”
“You’re going to need to shut down intake to the tanks one at a time—”
A blow buffeted Keene’s ear, sending the earpiece flying off into a far flung corner. A pistol shot rang out, lodging itself in the screen. Keene’s forehead bounced off the console, and he tumbled to the ground.
“You forget that I hear everything,” Hawk said. Keene opened his eyes in time to see her launch a lightning kick towards his ribs. “Your little plan to trap me.”
She bent over and yanked Keene upright, holding him by his shirt like he weighed nothing. Then Hawk spun him around, one arm around his neck, clutching him tight to her chest as she walked backwards.
Keene saw Strike, aiming down her pistol’s sights, emerging from between the two tanks.
“Let him go.”
“But what leverage do I have then?” Hawk’s hot breath flowed into Keene’s ear, made it sticky and sweaty. “I am out of bullets. They are gone. Why do you think I did not shoot him instead, when I came down?”
“If you’re out of bullets, then you’re out of moves. It’s over.” Strike’s pistol moved slightly from side to side, searching for a shot. Keene swallowed hard as it tracked over his face.
“You will
not interrupt the final stage.”
Hawk’s nose dug into the back of Keene’s skull. She wasn’t taking any chances by popping out over his shoulder. Effective, smart. He jerked, trying to resist or break free, but his body barely moved in her tight grip.
As they moved back towards the entranceway, Keene heard trickling water. The footing was slick. Hawk’s aggressive storm of bullets had punctured a number of the tanks.
“There’s one play,” Keene said. He met eyes with Strike. “Go to the console and shut down the tanks.”
He felt the grip around his neck tighten. “No. She will not do that.”
“Do it.”
“I will kill him.”
“She’ll kill me anyway,” Keene said. “Go.” He dug his heels in best he could. Strike held the gun steady for a moment. Then she nodded and whipped around, running like a swarm of angry bees had appeared.
The hand around Keene’s neck slackened. He jerked his head backwards, colliding with Hawk’s nose, which felt like it was fashioned of titanium alloy and bricks. His neck whiplashed forward. Then he was free, his inertia carrying him to the ground.
He spun over to find Hawk wiping her nose, demonic eyes glowing, white hair streaked with crimson highlights. She screamed, running at Keene, who rolled as she jumped down.
The force of her impact shook the damp floor.
His hair and clothes clung to his skin. He reached out to swipe at Hawk’s leg as she readied herself to sprint down the length of the plant. Caught off guard, she tripped and fell into the inch-deep water, splashing Keene with a small wave of droplets.
Keene’s victory was short lived. Her hand grabbed his, bending the wrist back in a cruel fashion. Pain shot through his tendons, and he jerked his arm away, floundering in the shallows.
Hawk was gone, out of his reach, before he could refocus on anything but the searing burn in his forearm.
“She’s coming!”
“I hope you can swim,” Strike called back. The doors to the plant swung open.
“What?”
Keene looked up, and saw the row of tanks expanding, pushing outwards, right before they all exploded. Emergency lights flashed on the walkway above, coloring the rising tide a foreboding shade of red. Keene quickly found himself paddling, riding a wave towards the open doors.
He couldn’t see Strike or Hawk.
But he could see that he was headed directly for the wall at an alarming speed.
He took a deep breath and dove into the churning water, his body disappearing beneath a sea of white foam.
31 | Venom
Keene’s body tumbled end over end in the churning depths. When his head would emerge above the surface, the sticky dryness of sea salt clung to his skin. Then the sensation would disappear, replaced by the torrents swirling around him as he was carried forward.
Pushed along by the fast moving current, he couldn’t see Strike or Hawk, or even where he was in the residential district. He found out when his head slammed against a cold cluster of metal limbs and hands.
His vision faded in and out as he drifted towards the surface. Keene had enough wherewithal to spin his face skyward, towards the dim orange light.
He gulped in oxygen as his mouth broke the surface. The endless surge of water subsided. Unsteady and uncertain, his legs searched for footing, brushing against the ruined automatons. He swam forward a few feet, and then found stable ground.
Standing, the water came up to the middle of his torso. He blinked and stared at the ruined plant on the hill. The remaining water gently flowed down the incline in a Zen garden cascade, rather than the tumultuous burst Keene had rode out on. Fortunately, while the tanks had ruptured, some safety mechanism had seen fit to close the intake valves before the entire place flooded. Thus only a few hundred thousand gallons of water from the outside had found its way inside Atlantis.
“Strike? You there?”
He tried to activate his neural implants, but the impact with the cluster of broken robots had thrown the fragile components askew once more, just as they’d been when he had awoken on Earth. When he closed his eyes, the static and blurred numbers disappeared.
A subtle splish-splash underneath the sound of flowing water made his eyelids shoot upon.
Keene ducked, a swift punch cutting through the air and sailing just over his head. From a squatting position, he leapt forward and dove beneath the water’s surface, trying to swim away. But Hawk’s arm caught his leg, pulling him backwards.
He fought to the surface and kicked free. Turning to face the crazed woman, he saw that a long gash ran from her torso to the top of her shoulder.
“The tanks are sharp,” she said, her robotic tone interlaced with a growl. “Who knew?”
She swung with her good arm, catching Keene with a light rap on the chin. He bounced back and steadied himself, searching the area for Strike. All he could see was the exit stairs, a number of half-submerged huts and a pond of shockingly blue, placid water. Everything looked dark and dreary deep beneath the sea, where light couldn’t penetrate. But in the subtle torchlight—the water’s crest had not knocked out the kerosene streetlamps once maintained by the city’s now-deceased automaton maintenance unit—it had the aura of a beautiful lakeside at sunset.
Far in the distance, down past the long row of stone residences, he could see where he needed to go. The exit. The submarine.
But Hawk was in the way.
And the final stage of her plan, whatever that was, had yet to be terminated.
“Kill the interloper! Kill him! Kill him!” The great rumbling voice crackled over the speakers, some ruined by the water, others underpowered by the sudden decline in energy. Despite the need to conserve power, the city was now in an absolute furor, demanding justice from its human hand. “You will kill the interloper!”
Keene backed up. Not that it helped much. The hill at his backside and the rows of empty huts would do him no good. Even if he could harness the electricity inside them again to cheat death, it would cause his own demise as well as hers, given the pond at his feet.
“All alone, Keene.” Hawk’s mouth, barely visible beneath the mountains of animal-like hair, twisted into a snarl, her bright white teeth glimmering in the soft fire light. The way she said his name, Keene was quite certain how much respect she had for him and his chances in this showdown.
He stopped backing up, his heart steadying.
She leapt from the water, her feet somehow clearing the surface, and plummeted on top of him, driving Keene into the salty depths. Amidst the bubbles and ripples, he could see her mouth opened in a primal yell as she shook the life from him.
The hands around his neck felt like a Teflon noose. He fought, thrashing his legs against hers, clawing his fingers at the seemingly titanium digits wrapped at his throat. His efforts had no effect.
His last few precious air bubbles drifted upwards and away as his movements slowed. Deprived of oxygen and about to die, the neural implants kicked into emergency mode, his vision becoming a scrambled haze of static and illegible symbols.
Hawk pushed him down further, her own face only inches above the surface, making Keene’s head collide against the cobbles. Given the resistance of the water and his fleeting consciousness, the pain was minimal. His skull bounced off the ground like a rubber ball.
Which is when he caught sight of the way out.
A burst of energy rocketed through his veins like jet fuel mixed with nitro glycerin. He reached for the shiny object, his fingers grasping at the sharpened edges, the rough burrs tearing into his skin.
Vision darkening to almost nothing, he managed to grasp the cool metal. With the last of his strength, he swung it skywards, towards the maniacal visage staring down at him.
The shorn automaton arm cut through the surface and caught Hawk in the eye. She immediately released her grip and fell backwa
rds into the water. Keene floated upwards, no longer possessing the strength to swim or move. His lips crept above the surface, and he coughed and choked.
His own gasps covered up the thrashing in the water nearby, but even his diminished vision couldn’t obscure the dark blood pooling out from a few feet away. The frantic splashes tapered off, and then all was silent.
Little strands of blood darted through the water, carried by the ripples and tiny waves, like ruby rattlesnakes.
Keene waded over and checked on the body, rolling Hawk’s corpse over. The gleaming arm jutted out of one eye, the other clouded by death. Keene reached out and shut it, then waded away to open the doors to the exit. Water rushed out, and he was carried along by the torrent into the atrium.
“Do not touch the Great Creature.” The voice was low and sputtering, no longer possessing any majesty or powers of intimidation. “It is sacred.”
“I bet it is, buddy, I bet it is.”
The water, having been dispersed over a wider area, was now only ankle deep. Keene turned his back on the ruined stone statue and returned to the residences to search for Strike. Even if she was dead, he would pick her up and carry her on home.
That was the right thing to do.
Dragging his tired body over the stone street, avoiding the mangled tangle of limbs and other debris, he searched the huts. Nothing. Keene looked up the hill, where a gentle waterfall still dripped down the green landscape.
His body refused to go forward, but his mind willed him up the slick and muddy incline, despite falling face first into the muck on more than one occasion. Stumbling through the doors, he saw her, all the way at the far end of the plant, at the foot of one of the ruined tanks.
Keene rushed over, his hurried steps kicking up tiny splashes of water from the thin puddle remaining on the floor.
“How?” He looked down at her, the bedraggled blonde locks clinging to the ruptured metal, her face, even her teeth. Listening, he couldn’t hear any breathing. She didn’t move as he approached.
Then he saw the two straps around her shoulders. He rolled the body over and saw that somehow, the backpack’s loops had caught on an exposed chunk of metal from the ruptured tank. His fingers traced the strap back to its hanging point. Blunt, no rough edges. Almost like a coat rack hook.
The Kip Keene Box Set: Books 1, 2 & 3 Page 30
