“Should I wound the second?” the pilot asked.
Emily didn’t respond. She watched the screen as Eugene cast a hateful glare at the cyborg. Her heart ached at the sight. He had resigned to death, knowing it would be impossible to flee the automaton. But he stayed with his friend, using his fingers to staunch the bleeding. She wondered if she had made a mistake. Logically, the correct choice was to kill him. He was a dangerous adversary—a skilled hunter and an elusive prey. He and Daron Keeler had wrought untold damage on Katharos.
But he was good, more than any man she’d ever known. Perhaps, if he understood her vision for the world, he would stand at her side. She could bring him to Siberia. He could be her deputy, or maybe even more. Physically, he could satisfy her needs in a way Borya never could…
Emily shook her head. This was the kind of emotional decision-making that kept humanity from reaching its true potential. Though it would break her heart, Eugene had to die. She opened her mouth to grant authorization, but the pilot cut her off with two words. “Oh…shit.”
Jarrod raced past the Pentagon’s outer defenses. When he reached the edge of the colossal structure, he banked right and sprinted along its perimeter. Every entrance he passed fed him new information through scents in the air. Thousands of people were inside, exuding odors of panic and uncertainty. There was also something else floating on the wind—something foreign but immediately recognizable. He followed the scent of Emily’s dangerous potion to where it was most pungent, leaping onto a terrace and passing through a shattered doorway.
Midway down the corridor, Eugene Carver was kneeling over a man Jarrod knew as Alpha One. Beyond them stood his wife’s corpse, violated and twisted into an unholy puppet. The poison in the air was thick, but Jarrod had trained for this moment. He rushed toward the cyborg, his limbs heavy and his mind sluggish, but he was still in control. There were no hallucinations or paralysis to hold him back this time.
He would bring an end to the Abomination.
Leaping over Eugene and Alpha One, Jarrod lowered his shoulder and tucked in his chin. The Abomination recognized the danger a moment too late. It took a half step to the side, then received the full force of the impact. Jarrod charged on, carried his target with him, and slammed into the wall. The drywall split open as if it were made of paper, dumping the killing machines into the adjoining room. Lateralis crashed through a row of felted cubicles and slowed itself by digging its clawed hands into the floor.
Jarrod leapt over the pile of smashed boards, twisting his body around mid-air. As the Abomination got to its feet, he passed over its head and swung his own clawed fingers at its face. The cyborg managed to turn its head, and the deadly spikes glanced off the side its helmet. The automaton reached up and grabbed his arm, redirected his momentum, and slammed him into the floor.
The tiles cracked from the impact, and Lateralis swung a powerful kick toward Jarrod’s head. The strike missed its intended target and shattered a desk, sending shards of laminated fiberboard across the room. Before the cyborg could reset its feet, Jarrod swung a blade-like forearm at its neck. The blow connected with a loud clang and a shower of sparks. The Abomination, its head still attached, pitched across the room, somersaulted, and bounced to its feet. Within milliseconds, Jarrod was on it again, this time raining lightning-fast punches on every vital point in its body.
“What are you doing!” Emily shouted. “Kill him!”
The pilot flinched and twitched in his chair. Sweat poured down his face. “I’m trying,” he complained. “He’s—shit—he’s too fast!”
Emily gripped the lectern. “Try emptying the other vials of neurotoxin.”
“Already…have,” the pilot mumbled. “Nothing’s working.”
Emily’s eyes shot wide open. “He must have found a way to adapt…”
The action on the screen was moving too fast to follow. Images of broken furniture, smashed walls, and closed fists flickered by. Every few seconds, the cyborg’s arms would come into view as it launched a counter punch, but it always missed. It was as if Jarrod had no substance, and blows passed straight through him. To make matters worse, Jarrod seemed to be blinking between black, gray, and white, making the disorienting scene that much harder to follow.
“Did you try running?” Emily asked.
The pilot didn’t answer. He winced and clenched his teeth, then said, “Yeah.”
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other and wringing her hands, Emily said, “Try again. Do whatever it takes. I don’t care if you have to sacrifice the automaton, just kill him.”
The machine ran, crashing through a wooden door and careening down a hallway. Jarrod gave chase, easily closing the gap. He followed a few paces behind, waiting for the right moment. Dozens of offices and hallways passed in a blur. Employees following evacuation routes dove out of the way, narrowly avoiding the twin black streaks.
The cyborg juked around one corner after another, glancing over its shoulder to see if Jarrod was still there. The pilot had no idea Jarrod was herding it like a confused sheep to a wide-open space where he could finish it off. Lateralis crashed through another door and tried to stop. Light shone through a thick window directly ahead. Before the cyborg could slow down, Jarrod dove forward.
Nerium and Lateralis incarnate blew through the window on the fourth floor of the Pentagon. They sailed over a maple tree, building speed as they plummeted toward the courtyard’s broad sidewalk. The cyborg tried to throw Jarrod off, but he clung to it like a tick. When they were within fifteen feet of the ground, Jarrod positioned his feet on the Abomination’s back and pushed. The maneuver did nothing to slow his descent, but it greatly accelerated the cyborg, which impacted the ground like a meteor.
Jarrod hit the sidewalk a moment later, rolling along his side to disperse the energy of his fall. He somersaulted through the short grass, finally coming to rest against a wooden bench. Pain signals gave him a damage report: two cracked ribs, massive contusions, and a dislocated shoulder. Gripping his right forearm, he gave a sharp tug to reset his shoulder. The other injuries would heal on their own.
The Abomination had not fared as well. It lay in a crater of soil and cracked concrete, struggling to right itself. It got on one trembling knee, then stood. When the pilot realized what was about to happen, he held the arms up like a shield.
Jarrod struck the machine with a powerful kick. The cyborg went airborne, then collided with the Pentagon’s sand colored wall. Catching up, Jarrod drove a knee into its ribs. The concrete wall cracked, and Jarrod lashed out again. He hammered the cyborg in the face, chest, and neck with the force of a battering ram.
The abomination fought back, but to no avail. The flesh and metal skeleton had been pulverized. Its ragged arms gripped at the quick-release for its armor and gave a sharp tug. The black armor fell away, leaving Melody Hawkins’s disfigured corpse completely naked.
The view was distorted through the shattered camera lenses, but Emily could see Jarrod stepping away from his wife’s corpse. Jarrod, it seemed, did not want to further mutilate Melody’s body. “It’s working.” Emily said. “Keep going.”
The pilot nodded as he guided the automaton.
“The power core is on the right side, just below the rib cage,” Emily said. “If you can get your fingers underneath, you might be able to puncture it.”
Following her directions, the pilot slowly brought the cyborg’s arm to its side. The claws felt along the fleshy covering, then pushed inside. He tried to keep the movements subtle to avoid drawing Jarrod’s attention.
“That’s it…” Emily said. “If you can break open the core, the radiation will kill him in minutes…”
The pilot licked his lips, then frowned.
Emily caught the expression. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The arm is stuck.”
Emily glanced at the monitor, then startled. Jarrod’s black visage was inches away from the cameras, his jaw flexing up and down.
“You, uh, probably don’t want to know,” the pilot said.
Jarrod pinned the Abomination’s forearm to the ground. He saw the fingers groping at a bulbous, black structure on its side and assumed it was a weapon. Bracing his foot against the cyborg’s chest, he tore both of its arms away, then leaned in close to the mechanical eyes.
“I know you can hear me,” he said, “and I have a message for you.” He took a deep breath, and his voice dropped two octaves. “Run. It will not save you. Nothing will. But if you wish to prolong your life, run without looking back. Because I will be there, waiting within your shadow. I will strip you of every last vestige of sanity. Your soldiers will fall before me, and your fortresses will burn. Nothing you love will survive. Then I will tear your body apart, inch by inch. When it is all over, you will beg for death and the fires of Hell.”
He had no need or desire to gloat, but Roberts was only human, and therefore vulnerable to psychological warfare. He finished his speech, then crushed the automaton’s head beneath his heel.
The next objective appeared in his mind’s eye: Find out what Katharos was doing in the Pentagon. He had come across dozens of bodies in the hallway, but that didn’t seem like enough. Roberts wouldn’t sacrifice her precious creation to shoot a few hostages.
Jarrod tasted the air above the dismembered Abomination, analyzing every nuance. Beneath the dizzying scent of Roberts’s neurotoxin were hundreds of other odors. The coppery smell of human blood was the strongest, followed by sweat, burnt building materials, and Nomex.
Nomex? Jarrod took another breath, confirming what he detected. The synthetic, fire-resistant material reached his nostrils once more, and hundreds of scenarios played through his mind. Gradually, he narrowed in on the most plausible reason. When the answer arrived, he turned and sprinted into Corridor Six.
39
Fen couldn’t believe his eyes. Hundreds of people were streaming through the Pentagon’s emergency exits. This wasn’t part of the plan—the automaton was supposed to keep everyone inside until the bombs went off. Every person that escaped diminished what they had fought so hard to accomplish. Fen could understand a few people slipping out windows when the shooting started, but this? He shook his head. Something had gone wrong. The Americans must have found a way to stop the cyborg.
As he descended the steps to the Pentagon Lagoon, he reminded himself that it wasn’t a total loss. The death toll would be lower, but it was unlikely that everyone would get out before the explosions. And the Pentagon would still be a radioactive wasteland for weeks, if not months. The message would be loud and clear: the U.S. is vulnerable.
Fen smiled as he made the leap to the Coast Guard vessel. Other than the cyborg, his teammates were all waiting for him.
Leaning out from inside the cabin, the driver said, “Do you want to wait until the fireworks start, or get underway now?”
“I know the stuff can’t reach us out here,” Fen said, “but it still scares the hell out of me. Let’s go.”
The driver nodded, then slipped back inside. With a low rumble, the Lifeboat sped out of the harbor.
Fen leaned against the railing and smiled. Any minute now, the team would receive a secure communication from Empress, congratulating them on their success. The infiltration, bomb placement, and escape had gone off without a hitch. He only hoped the other attacks around the country had gone so well.
“Hey, uh, we might have another checkpoint to pass through,” the driver called out.
Fen frowned and joined his team in the cramped cabin.
“Looks like a rapid response team,” someone offered.
Fen stared at the SONAR display for a moment, then shrugged. “We expected this to happen. Don’t worry, our cover is iron-clad.”
“I don’t know,” the driver said. “They’re moving this way, and fast.”
Grabbing a pair of binoculars, Fen looked out over the open water. Two angular black boats were speeding toward them. As they drew closer, the color drained from his face.
“Mark Six’s,” Fen whispered.
Everyone in the cabin stared at him with wide eyes, and the driver snatched the binoculars from his hand. After staring through the glass for a long moment, he said, “Maybe they’re here to deliver Navy SEALS for the counter assault.”
“Maybe,” Fen said, though he didn’t really believe it. Stepping outside, he watched the patrol boats draw nearer. One slowed down and turned sharply, while the other blew past, its 25-millimeter chain guns tracking the Lifeboat as it went.
In less than a minute, the first Mark VI was within shouting distance. A man in black tactical gear raised a bullhorn to his lips and said. “Get on the deck with your hands in front of you. Prepare to be boarded.”
“What do we do?” the driver hissed.
Cold reality sank in, and Fen shook his head. “We have to make a run for it. If they take us in, you know what Empress will do.”
A wave of resignation washed over the small crew. One by one, they nodded in agreement.
The driver swallowed. With a trembling hand, he reached for the throttle and pushed it forward. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it’s been a pleasure.”
The bow of the Lifeboat lifted from the water as it gained speed, but it was no match for the Mark VI. The man on the closest gunboat shouted another warning. When no one responded, the 25mm chain gun roared to life, sending a warning shot across the Lifeboat’s bow.
When the warning went unheeded, the trailing Mark VI opened fire, tearing apart the Lifeboat’s motors. Realizing they were dead in the water, the Katharos agents emerged from the cabin, aiming AK-47’s at the black boats.
The response was immediate. Twin streams of 25mm rounds tore through the Lifeboat, shredding it and everyone on board.
Emily watched the vital signs for the Pentagon assault team drop to zero. She gripped the lectern, drawing in slow breaths.
No one in the room spoke. The pilot, unable to see or feel anything, waited patiently in his chair for Emily to disconnect him from the interface.
Emily stared at the pilot, her face devoid of emotion. She pushed off the lectern and strode toward him, passing the interface and stopping directly behind his chair. “Clearly,” she whispered, “the system needs an upgrade.”
“It—it was a masterful machine, Empress,” the pilot stammered. “But he was…better. I’m sure the next line of automatons will be more than capable of—”
“I wasn’t talking about the machine!” Emily roared. Without further explanation, she gathered the bundle of wires and tubes connected to the base of the pilot’s skull and yanked them out. The connection severed, instantly stopping his heart and constricting every muscle in his body. His jaw clenched and his arms curled inward, trembling from the exertion. His brain registered unimaginable pain, then shut down completely.
Agents manning desks around the room were suddenly on their feet, covering their mouths to hide their shock.
Emily spun on her heel and stormed up the stairs. She paused at the door long enough to shout, “I hope none of you think you aren’t expendable! Give me some results or you’ll be next!”
The bronze-plated door slammed shut, and the room came to life with fervent desperation.
Emily stormed down a long corridor, her face turning shades of pink and blue beneath stained-glass windows. The hallway had been adorned with historical colored glass from around the world and backlit with full-spectrum lights. It normally calmed her nerves, but not today. The failure to topple the figurehead of American military power would generate waves of failure in other Katharos operations. The losses were incalculable.
She nearly sprinted up two flights of stone stairs, then stopped and spread her arms in front of a bio-morphology scanner. It ran facial, heart signature, bone-density, and posture recognition and opened the massive throne room doors. She marched across the plush, red carpet, passed a
dozen authentic Terracotta Soldiers, then stopped at the elevated terrace. There was no throne at the top, only a black, motorized wheelchair. It rotated slowly on its rubber tires, bringing Emperor into view. He was a withered man with a pitted face and gray beard. His eyes were hazy with glaucoma, though he hadn’t used them in years.
A mechanical voice came from a speaker in the base of the chair. “Are you troubled, my sweet?”
Emily fought to maintain her composure. She ascended the stairs and knelt beside Borya Tabanov, the only man she’d ever loved. “I’ll be alright. We experienced some setbacks, but they’re temporary.”
“How can I comfort you, my love?”
Emily smiled and stroked Borya’s bald head. Her fingers followed the deep valleys and rough scars, remnants of a thousand cranial surgeries he had undergone to assist her research. She held his hand, feeling the soft palm. “For now, I just need your touch, and a reminder of how far we’ve come.”
“Is our plan still within reach?”
Emily thought for a moment. “Yes. There is a variable that must be removed, but we’ll soon have more than enough resources to deal with him. We will not fail; the world will be cleansed and reshaped into paradise.”
“Paradise…” the mechanical voice repeated.
Emily lifted the frail hand and brushed her cheek against it. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Paradise. And the perfect human race.”
40
San crept down the spiral staircase, trying not to wake his family. Sunrise was still an hour away, but he couldn’t sleep. Eugene had stopped by the night before to tell Janson that Ford was wounded, but alive. Before anyone could ask questions, Eugene had left.
San reached the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to find Janson at the breakfast bar. “Do you ever sleep?” he asked, taking the seat next to her.
The Path Of The Nightmare Page 25
